


City of Wayward Sons

by 123Chickadee



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Hate Speech, Het and Slash, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Content, Slow Build-for everybody-like woah, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 383,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/123Chickadee/pseuds/123Chickadee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in between 5x05-5x08 and the beginning of City of Ashes. Sam, Dean, and Castiel struggle to stop the end of days and head to NYC. Meanwhile Clary and the shadowhunters seek to find a way to stop Valentine. Through a chance encounter, the boys and the nephilim are forced to work together to save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which everyone meets

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either series.  
> Chapters that need specific warnings will have them.  
> This was originally are collab fic with MissStud but we lost contact with each other and I decided I wanted to keep writing. So this one’s for you hon. This will be updated bi-monthly. Hope this will tide everyone over from the hangover hiatus. Enjoy!  
> Word count: 8,738

Chapter 1: In which everyone meets.

 

In the high rise tower, only two people were inside. One was kneeling on the floor sweating with effort. It or rather, he was a warlock. He was laboriously etching into the expensive marble floor. The second was a man. He stared out the glass windows that surrounded the entire room. Whether he was looking at the skyline or his own reflection was anyone’s guess. He stood absolutely motionless and his reflection revealed his impatience.

“Hurry up. I did not pay for slowness.” 

“Hey this is hard to cut through. I’ll be done in a minute.”

The warlock boy named Elias shrugged off his jacket to let his wings breathe. They fidgeted briefly and the man’s lip curled in disgust. He ran a large hand through silvered hair as he watched Elias finish the pentagram and begin chanting. The Warlock language was offensive to the man’s ears, but he tolerated it and waited until the ritual was finished. 

Smoke rose up from the circle, dark and ominous. It was beginning to take form, thickening in substance. Its weight came from what it was: an ancient and powerful thing, defying what was natural, but it was so old that it was natural. It was something deeply ingrained in humanity for as long as anyone could remember. The smoke had eyes; they were covering its body and they were narrowed in cruelty.

“Who has called me?”

“I did. You are in my circle and you have to do what I tell you.” the boy said.

“…Oh?” 

An undulating pillar of smoke shot out of the circle. It went straight for the warlock. Elias let out a bleat of terror before chanting in a small voice. The demon let out a laugh. A laugh that sounded like a thousand dead men and scraping bone and crumbling cities. It launched itself on top of the boy, whose screams were muffled by the weight. It bubbled over in excitement and it was over as quickly as it began. It slid off the boy, who was no longer a boy but a crumpled mass on the floor. Surprisingly, his body was left unbloodied. The demon turned to the man, violence on its mind. It gave a wheezy chuckle; it was just as worse as its laugh.

“You know who I am?” 

“Of course. It is good to meet you, Agramon.” The man’s voice was smooth.

“I killed your little summoner.”

“I’m not surprised.” 

“You let him die; knowing his pathetic circle couldn’t hold me?” It seemed to purr. “How devious.” 

The man shrugged delicately, almost demurely; an amazing feat for someone so broad shouldered.  
“His greatest fear was that he wouldn’t be able to hold you once you were summoned. It was well founded.” 

“What do I address you as….my Lord…?” Agramon rumbled in mock deference. 

“Valentine.” 

“What a lovely name.” a new voice appeared.

Valentine slowly turned to face the speaker, a blade at the ready. Agramon growled deep, low, and…softly. The demon bristled, body rippling and its eyes blinked. It was almost as if the demon of fear was afraid. Valentine felt a strange thrill go through him.

“Well then, just who are you?”

Instead of the stranger answering, it was Agramon. “Lucifer.” 

Valentine felt his body stiffen, his face trying to work out the proper expression. Hostility rose in him, but a smaller voice inside him urged caution. Something said this man was different, despite looking like an average mundane. Valentine raised his weapon a little higher and fixed the stranger with a stare that could freeze oceans.

“Agramon.” Valentine gestured for quick, imminent violence.

The Greater Demon hesitated. The man calling himself Lucifer smiled. It was a calm chilling smile. The kind worn by those who are amused by conflict and certain that they are the cause of it. It was a smile that had seen through many wars and much pain.  
Valentine watched as the man cocked his head, a curiously bird-like gesture, before sweeping his hand through the air. Agramon made an odd gurgling sound, like a dog being strangled. The demon halted, its black mass quivering.

“It has been quite a while hasn’t it?” the stranger’s voice made it sound as though they were merely discussing the weather. “When last we met, you were at the point of my sword.”

“…Release me.” Agramon managed to growl.

The stranger turned to Valentine, a lazy contempt in his eyes.

“Is that alright with you?” he asked, with icy patronization.

“…As you like.” Valentine shrugged.

The stranger made another sweeping gesture and Agramon seemed to crumple to the ground. The demon’s eyes seethed with hate, but it slunk back into the circle, and made no more movement. The stranger turned to Valentine and smiled. Valentine straightened and there might have been a spark of pride in his eyes.

“Most impressive. I would like to…ascertain if you really are-” 

The stranger merely smiled, blue eyes looking coldly back at him; he knew his words had angered the creature, but suddenly, somehow he played with the shadows on the walls. The air became cold and Valentine exhaled sharply, seeing his own breath ghosting through the room. It became an oppressive atmosphere, the room seemingly shrinking; Valentine never felt claustrophobic before, but he felt so minuscule, like a flea floating by itself in the universe.

The room was freezing, enough so that ice began to coat the glass around them, incasing the entire room like a sheet. Valentine shivered, but the air shimmered as though there was a heat wave and Valentine squinted his eyes. He felt his heart hammer painfully in his chest, as if his ribs were being crushed by an iron vice. He could have sworn that some blood vessels in his eyes had burst. Still he couldn’t, didn’t want to look away. 

It was there before him: glorious bright wings that held a touch of, not quite decay, but something frightening. A rotted star. It was like the deep crushing pull of the ocean. Something grotesque, but still managing to look beautiful, as if the decay itself was a prime example of the ruthlessness of nature. Valentine could not take his eyes off them, but it was unbearable.  
It was him. The Morning Star.

A sudden thought occurred to him. They shared the same name, the same blood to an extent. That was why he could-was worthy enough to look at an angel and not be destroyed. He felt a delicious shiver go through him.

“Yes.”  
Valentine jumped. His mind was being read.

“You really are him…?”

“Yes. But I think you know that.” Lucifer’s expression became smooth and soft.

Valentine watched, amazed as the wings were folded back to wherever they had come from, and the thick menacing aura dissipated. For some reason, he couldn’t find himself becoming comfortable in Lucifer’s presence. However, there was something about him that made Valentine want to follow him, leap into an abyss for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was how it must have felt for his old members in The Circle. He didn’t know if he’d like to relinquish his own hold of control, but Lucifer was speaking to him…

“I can tell you about Raziel.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
At the same time during that night, many blocks away something else of importance was going on. At the bar called the Hunter’s Moon, a fight was taking place. Inside, the patrons were snarling and swinging punches at a laughing boy. That was boy was Jace Lightwood.  
_______________________________________________________________________  
That night, Clary dreamed. Dreamed in vivid, cinematic detail. She saw Jace with wings. He was standing tall, a sword gleaming tightly in his hand; it didn’t look like a seraph blade, but it hummed with power, and even though he struggled to hold it up, he looked every bit an avenging angel.

Images blended smoothly into one another as Jace’s face twisted briefly to become Valentine’s, who stared down terrifying points of light with an equally terrifying expression. She knew the light was familiar, becoming as known as the angel rising out of icy dark water. The surface of her subconscious rippled, revealing a shattered mirror, each glittering shard had a scene painted on them, and they all rained down on her.

She threw up her hands to keep them from hurting her face, but it was no good; it didn’t prevent her from seeing the images.  
Three figures standing tall with weapons at the ready, but she couldn’t see the enemy they were facing.  
Two women with red hair were embracing, and at first she thought it was her mother and herself, but it wasn’t and even though one of them wore her face, she knew it wasn’t her.

Then, it was Simon. He was bleeding in several places, bright blood spilling onto the floor, and he was being held upright by Jace. Jace, whose white gold hair rang like a halo against Simon’s jet black coloring. They were pressed so close together that they could have been brothers.

Two men. One was kneeling to the other, and he had large black wings, his face turned upwards. The standing man had no wings and a burning hand print on his arm. The air seemed to shimmer around them like a powerful heat wave.  
Four gleaming rings dangled on a cliff, colors crashing against her eyelids and she was filled with dread.  
She was starting at Isabelle, her gold whip gleamed and it bound them together like a corset. Isabelle’s fingers ran through her hair like a blessing.

Clary looked up at the sky. Runes were carved into it as though it were made, not of air, but glass. Shapes undulated behind the runes and then she saw them and knew they were angels.

She knew instinctively that was what they were. Her eyes burned just by looking at them, but it was worth it. They were magnificent and terrible. Power and grace radiating through them, brilliant points of light and shape. They moved with the feral symmetry of wild horses in motion. She felt a violent, sudden longing to go to them and stay there. It was all together familiar and alien.  
Then, a pair of eyes turned to regard her, and she suddenly it was a thousand, a million eyes were upon her. Voices pierced her ears and she could almost understand them, almost as though they were merely on a different frequency that she was used to. She knew with a terrible finality that there was no way of connecting with them. She wanted to scream-

“Clary!”

Somewhere was shaking her awake. It was Simon, she realized. He was bent over her, glasses eschewed, and his dark eyes were large and concerned.

“You were shouting in your sleep.”

“Oh sorry. I was dreaming.”

“Helluva dream.”

“Yeah.”

Clary let the fog of heavy, but interrupted sleep slowly leave her brain. As the after image-like feeling of a strange dream began to leave her, she had a nagging feeling that she should sketch the images that were quickly leaving her mind.  
The normalcy of Simon’s couch, discs of anime, and the smell of old pizza was putting Clary at ease. It was easy to just dismiss the jumble of alarming images as the after effect of too much stress. Clary felt her joints stretch and pop. 

“What time is it?”

“A bit after one.” Simon smiled at her. “I thought you were gonna sleep all day.”

“I could have.” Clary mumbled.

She rubbed her eyes and the need for caffeine gave her a gravitational pull to the kitchen. Simon was just a pace behind her, walking so close that her heart automatically sped up. The night before, Clary had fallen asleep on Simon’s couch, exhausted after visiting her brother. Her…brother Jace had somehow managed to get himself in trouble again last night when he picked a fight with a bunch of werewolves in a Downworlder bar. Not that that in itself surprised her; Jace would pick a fight with the Chrysler building if he felt like it. He was just so…something seemed off. A loud clink of cups on countertop forced her out of her thoughts. She shook her head irritably. 

‘So what. Jace is his own person. I don’t have the right to tell him what to do…’ 

Clary bit her lip, and tried to concentrate on what was in front of her. Simon was filling their mugs; he looked oddly pale.

“So…You up for some fun?”

“What you have in mind?”

Simon’s eyes lit up, and his boyish enthusiasm reminded her of when they were kids and Clary felt a sudden longing.

“Well there is this new convention, and Carver Edlund is doing a book signing!”

“Ok.”

Clary was determined not to think about Jace.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Awww fuck me.”

“I’m not your type.”

“Why are we here again?”

“You know why. There is some pretty weird stuff going on in the area.”

“Yeah yeah.”

Two doors slammed out of unison as two men began to walk up the street. Sam and Dean Winchester made their way to a new job.  
________________________________________________________________________  
At that moment, two things began to happen as the Winchester brothers walked into a building with a large sign up front.  
The first thing was that three other young people were about to do their jobs as well, and the next thing was that somewhere out there, a tagalong angel had a foreboding feeling.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary watched as Simon tried to contain his excitement, and she grinned. After what happened at Renwick’s they could all use a break. Simon was doing this mainly to cheer her up. She melted, and felt a wave of tenderness wash over her. She blinked in surprised; that was strange, but she scooted closer to Simon anyway. She could smell his aftershave.

“Hey, do you think we should have-” Simon gestured to the crowds with a wave of his hand.

Clary looked as cosplayers milled around, and she almost laughed. A bunch of men were wearing flannel, which reminded her of Luke and some had leather jackets. None of them looked as though they knew what anime might be, but she could be wrong, you never knew. 

“Just looks like a bunch of guys, what would I be?” she asked as a scarecrow man walked past them.

“Well…something like that…?” Simon trailed off.

“Quite the selection.” 

“Shut up.” he laughed.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean wanted to go back to Hell. Or maybe he had somehow gotten pulled back under.  
“Urrgh.” 

He was pretty sure he heard Sam make a similar noise; he’s glad there is something they could still agree on.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I know, shut up.”

Together, but really Dean felt strangely alone in a sea of leather jackets. He was surrounded by “Dean’s” and “Sam’s.” Of all the places to find a job, it had to be one of these weirdo fan clubs.

“You’re sure this is the place?”

Sam nodded, apparently too traumatized to speak; Dean didn’t blame him. He almost flinched when an all too familiar scarecrow brushed past. Ugh.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dean grunted.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Something was wrong. Air currents lifted him up as anger surged through him. Something was about to be rectified.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Old stairs creaked of their own accord. Dust floated in the air. Jace let his trained eyes find the darkened places. Beside him, were two of his fellow warriors, Alec and Isabelle. A low rumbling growl suddenly reverberated throughout the building. Jace tensed, he was a coil about to spring. He felt himself bare his teeth in rabid excitement. Jace could see Isabelle tremble with energy, and with a sudden flick of her wrist, wire-thin gold shot out into the shadow filled rubble.

A pain stricken shriek echoed off the walls, and the three leapt into action. Long serrated claws swiped the air, and Jace ducked low. Isabelle gave a fierce war cry, and her whip flung upwards, and a thin shoot of blood spurted out. It roared in pain and charged. An arrow struck it in the face, stopping the demon short.

“Be more careful!” shouted Alec.

“Lighten up!” Isabelle shouted back.

Jace whirled the blade in his hand, feeling the heady thrum of the fight. He rushed forward, and brought the edge of the blade to the side of the demon’s underbelly. It was a weak spot where there were no scales, and he rolled himself beneath the creature. Its fetid bulk nearly crushing and he could tell Isabelle had rushed into the fray.

Gripping the handle of the knife, he slammed it into the belly. Its screams of pain reverberated throughout Jace’s body and its blood drenched him. It suffocated him and he choked back his bile. Jace lifted the knife and plunged it into its belly again. It screamed and reared itself up. Jace sucked in a lungful of air, like a deep sea diver freeing itself from an octopus.

“Jace!”

Before he could move, a large clawed appendage batted him into the air. Alec and Isabelle yelled; gold whip slicing the clawed hand off and it fell to the ground. More arrows sunk into the demon’s side. It shook itself roughly as Jace landed on the ground.  
Jace crouched low, eyes signally Alec to shoot at the right moment. The three began to move in unison, ready to surround it. It growled, deep in its throat. Jace’s fingers curled around his weapon, and he could have sworn he heard himself growl too.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean made his way through the crowd. Getting the info they needed was a pain in the ass; he hated these crazy fans.

“Hey, I think I saw a Bobby.” Sam pointed.

“Oh God kill me.” Dean growled.

Stupid little brothers. He tried to gather enough momentum to escape the press of the crowd. They were almost done here…  
“Ah…testing.” a hesitant voice warbled.

A sudden cheer went up and the energy of the crowd intensified. 

“Ah…um. Yeah thanks.”

Dean recognized the voice. It was Chuck. He could just picture the man now: his eyes would be darting every which way and they’d be so shadowed that he always looked like he hadn’t slept for a decade. His hair would be a total mess, and his clothes rumpled.  
It was almost hard to believe that the timid pulp fiction writer was actually a Prophet of the Lord. Dean could get a clear view of him now, and the smaller man hadn’t changed since he last saw him. Right now, Chuck was clutching a microphone as if it were a lifeline.

“Um. Hi, I’m Carver Edlund. But…you all probably knew that. I write the Supernatural books.”

Another cheer rose up, and Chuck smiled nervously. Dean felt for the guy. He tuned out the questions that the fans were asking, and turned around to grab Sam. Now that they knew who was haunting the place, they could get to the torching bit of their job. Wait. Dean looked around. No Sam. He gritted his teeth. Perfect.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary wriggled to get more room. Being pressed this close to Simon was comforting, but she felt a pins and needles sensation, almost like a strange aftertaste. Simon was practically buzzing with energy, and he felt like a furnace. She pushed a strand of hair away from her face; with this crowd it was heating up fast. She listened to the fans questions with some amusement and was amazed at their thoroughness. From what little she read (from Simon’s collection), she thought she couldn’t get into it, but then she met Jace and then… Her ears perked at the next question. A few fans brought up a passionate case that the two main characters, a pair of brothers-were actually in love with each other. The words “homoerotic.” and “subtext.” kept floating around, and their adamancy surprised Clary. 

‘Wish someone would fight for me like that.’ 

Clary actually gasped out loud as the thought came unbidden. She almost doubled over; a sudden sucker punch had left her completely winded. Clary shivered despite the warm air. The pins and needles feeling had intensified, and brought on a sudden dizziness between her thighs. She flushed with mortification.

Suddenly, she needed to get out of there. Clary shoved past people, not caring that they gave her dark looks as she went past. She walked on for what seemed like forever; her head spinning. Clary found a set of doors and struggled to push them open. She stumbled inside and sank into a chair. Her breath was coming out in rapid gasps, and Clary felt an irrational surge of anger at a pair of make believe people.

A small part of her mind told her to calm down. When her breathing finally eased, Clary could see her icy breath.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean finally spotted Sam and he rolled his eyes. That Becky girl had somehow wrangled his brother into a conversation. Dean felt a vindictive grin on his face; misery loves company.

“Sam!” he shouted.

Becky’s eyes widened and Dean just gave her the barest of nods.

“Been lookin’ for you everywhere.”

Dean yanked Sam with such force, that if this had been a cartoon, Sam’s feet would have been lifted clear off the ground. Sam only managed to get a glimpse of a dark haired boy asking Chuck for an autograph.

“Dude.” Dean growled yet again.

“Sorry, she blindsided me.” Sam shuddered.

Dean shook his head. The two strode past a set of doors when a sudden noise came to life.

“EMF?” 

Dean pulled the small black object from his pocket. It was lit up, meter dashing back and forth. A sudden shout came from behind the doors and the two exchanged a look before kicking open the doors.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The demon had pinned Isabelle with its tail, which was bleeding in several places. Alec’s arrows littered the soft parts of the demon. Ichor made the ground slippery, soaking the already dirty carpet. Jace could hear Alec panting with exertion; he had finally run out of long range weaponry and had to jump in to defend the other two. Jace wiped blood out of his face. His muscles were finally starting to shake with fatigue, and-

It rushed at him. He heard Isabelle shriek his name, and Jace braced himself. The double row of teeth were bearing down on him, and he wouldn’t be able to dodge in time-

Something brushed his cheek. It was soft and sharp at the same time, and it was so brief he probably imagined it. A frenzied flapping was in front of him, and he blinked rapidly; the air had shimmered in a brief wave. Jace found it hard to breathe, he almost fell over, but someone was standing between him and the demon.

‘Alec? No…’

The figure was now solid, tall, and sure of himself. The demon was struggling; the man had one hand clenching the demon’s throat, and in the other was a gleaming weapon. Jace shivered. There was something about the cut of the figure.  
The man yelled something, plunging the blazing weapon into the demon’s throat. It gave a final pain filled cry. It crumpled down onto the ground and slowly disappeared. When the final plumes of smoke rose up, briefly swirled about the figure before fading away, Jace stared. It was a man wearing a tan rumpled trench coat, and he stared at Jace with impossibly blue eyes.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Sam and Dean burst into action. Sam put himself in front of a small redheaded girl and Dean rushed to attack the ghost. The ghost of a long since dead maid flung Dean aside, shrieking.

“Sam get the-”

The maid ghost yelled again and made a move to attack Sam, but suddenly the redhead put herself in front of Sam, almost like she was trying to protect him. In her hand was a slender glass stick…thing. She yelled and made some kind of motion with her hand. It did nothing and she look surprised, but again-

“Duck!”

Sam hit the deck, yanking the girl down with him. Dean took the shot and the ghost flickered out. Dean nodded his head to Sam.

“Go.”

Sam nodded, giving him a final look before running out the doors. Dean looked at Red and her strange object.

“Who do you think you are, Harry Potter?”

Red flushed, looking away and then her eyes widened. “Look out!”

Dean felt something slam into him. Maid ghost was back and pissed. His shotgun scattered out of his hands; he tried to drown out Red’s shouting. He couldn’t reach the iron knife he kept hidden, and he was pinned. Maid ghost’s hands felt very solid around his neck. There was a sudden thumping noise before the maid ghost gave an unearthly cry before flaming out.

“’Bout time Sammy.” Dean rasped.

He looked up in time to see Red stagger. She had lifted up a chair and it looked like she was about to slam it into maid ghost before she had flamed out. Red yelped as she let go of the chair and nearly toppled over herself. Well points for trying. The two looked at each other for a few minutes, not speaking. A sudden tinny chorus of generic rock music played. Red jumped, but Dean was somewhat grateful for the distraction that had come in the form of his phone. He pulled it out and flipped it open.

“Yeah.”

“Dean.”

His brain cells sputtered into gear.

“Hey. God give you more minutes?”

“Actually-”

“Whatever. What is it?”

“I need you to meet me at this address.”

Dean mentally wrote it up, unsurprised to hear the dial tone. He looked back at Red, and gave her a brief smile.

“Later.”

He raced out the door to meet Sam.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary panted, adrenaline still pumping through her veins as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Of all the things that had happened today, or even the past few weeks, this was the most unexpected. Something told her this was big. Huge. You didn’t ignore gut instinct, especially when it was screaming at you. Clary shakily stood up and grabbed her stele.

‘They saw it. I didn’t even realize I was holding it. I tried to use my stele in front of mundanes!’

Clary shook her head. She didn’t know how to use glamour, but she didn’t think it would be needed for a stele…but what if they weren’t mundanes? The man with the shotgun (did Shadowhunters even use guns? She hadn’t seen that before…) only seemed annoyed when she tried to help. Then there was the whole bursting into the room, literally with guns blazing that threw her for a loop. Wouldn’t most mundanes be frightened or confused by…whatever tried to attack her?

‘Either way, they know something.’

Then there had been that phone call. The only thing she had been able to catch was the address.

“The Institute!” she shouted aloud.

Of course, she should have noticed that sooner. Now suspicious, her brain clicked into gear and she raced out to find Simon. She found him blissed out on a couch and he looked up at her approach. 

“There you are. I tried to find you.” he held up a scrawled on cover with a grin. “I got my favorite copy signed!” 

He must have seen her expression change because he became serious.

“What happened?” 

“We’ve got to go.”

She didn’t give him time to react beyond standing up. He followed her without complaint. Clary felt a rush of gratitude. A few weeks ago he would have jabbered incessant questions, but now he just hurried up to catch up to her. Opening the doors and stepping outside felt good. The air was invigorating after the overcrowded building. The sky had darkened and the city was just waking up. Clary hailed a cab.

Sliding into the universal and familiar cab interior, she heard Simon slid in behind her. She barely gave him time to shut the door before she was calling out directions, ending with:

“Just follow that black car up ahead.”

Simon’s eyes widened and the cabby repeated her direction.

Simon nodded. “Yeah that 67’ Impala right there.” he pointed.

Clary looked at him in surprise.

“Since when do you know cars?”

The cab began to move.

“It’s Sam and Dean’s car.” he leaned toward Clary. “More importantly, why are we following a couple of hardcore cosplayers?”  
Hastily, Clary began to tell Simon what happened in the room. His eyes were wide by the time she was finished.

He whistled. “That is pretty hardcore. They killed a spirit.”

“How can you-” Clary shook her head. This was a curveball. “Just how is that possible?” she didn’t expect an answer.

Now it was Simon’s turn to be skeptical.

“You don’t believe in ghosts? After all that’s happened?”

Clary shrugged. “That’s not the point.”

It wasn’t the ghost bit that threw her off, but the idea that someone could kill a ghost. Wouldn’t that be…redundant? Besides, Shadowhunters never talked about them, or did anything close to what those two men did.

“The point?” Simon prompted.

“I heard the Institute’s address-or I think I did. So what if they happen to be Shadowhunters? Really weird ones, but-”

“Or it could be like the books!” Simon looked excited.

“Your nerd is showing.” Clary sighed impatiently. “Those books aren’t real.”

Simon didn’t bother to press the point, instead he shrugged amiably. “Well those guys think it’s real.” he gestured to the black car.

Clary nodded absently. Something wasn’t right. She perked up as the black car parked in front of them. The cabby said nothing as he pulled up in front of the Institute; he wouldn’t be able to see it for what it really was: a magnificent cathedral, instead of an abandoned building. Clary rushed out, leaving Simon to pay the fare.

She walked quickly to the men that had gotten out of their car. She ignored the sound of a speeding cab and the worried intake of Simon’s breath behind her. Clary didn’t care. She focused on the two men, hearing the shorter one complain about something.

“Well, where is he? Tells us to-”

The taller one nudged his companion, noticing Clary marching up to them.

“Hey.”

The two boys, no men, looked at her. She could see something like wariness in their expressions, but Clary wasn’t quite sure why and she was strongly reminded of Jace. It made her even more curious, and suspicious. 

“Red.” the shorter one said in surprise.

Clary tried to gather her thoughts; she didn’t want to give herself away, but she wasn’t quite sure what to say next.  
“What are you…?” She straightened herself up. “What business do you have here?”

Clary tried to sound more like a Shadowhunter; after all maybe that was indeed what they were. Wearing glamour to hide their marks, and deciding to use guns? She could tell they were surprised by her change in tone, and maybe a bit of something else. The shorter one looked like he might have been reaching for something, but the taller one looked at the Institute with confusion. Clary realized with a jolt that he couldn’t see what was really in front of him.

“How bout’ you mind your own business Red.” the shorter man said.

“Clary.” she snapped. “My name is Clary.”

A twig snapped. Or some small sound exploded and everyone jumped. Well, Simon and Clary did, the two men just started. Figures hurried over to them. Four of them and Clary felt herself relax a bit. It was the Lightwood siblings. Isabelle and Alec were walking with someone sandwiched between them, almost as if he was being flanked. They were close enough now that Clary could read the tension in their shoulders. The man in between them didn’t look nearly as agitated. She only registered that fact as something mildly interesting; her friends looked wary enough that a fight might break out. If they were dogs, their hackles would be raised. Clary looked behind them to see who was bringing up the rear, it was-

“Jace.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Jace heard his name. Clary’s sharp intake of breath sent a little thrill down his spine. He composed himself quickly. She wasn’t supposed to be here, and she brought the mundane no less. He hadn’t seen her since yesterday, since his little brawl at the lycanthrope dive. It already seemed like a lifetime ago, and that he hadn’t seen Clary ever since, but he pushed that hopeless thought away when he saw who she was confronting. Two mundane men. Nothing but trouble, both them and her. He could see they were older, and he felt a smirk on his face.

“Cas! About time. You tell us to be someplace and you don’t even show!” the shorter man yelled.

“Apologies‘.” Said the man in between Alec and Isabelle. “Something diverted my attention.”

The shorter man made a face. “Oh. How nice.”

Jace didn’t like the implications of their conversation, or the fact that Clary was somehow involved. He buried his hammering heart and turned his smirk into a sneer.

“Well Clary, you just can’t keep yourself out of trouble huh?” he drawled and gestured to the two men. “They look like a handful. Well…not as much as me, but you’ll take what you can get.”

The reaction was immediate. Jace inwardly laughed. If he could just get an edge…and take everyone off theirs. He thought he heard Isabelle murmur something. Either it was a scathing “Boys!” or a positive assessment of the two strange men, he didn’t know.  
If there was one thing he knew he was good at, it was stirring things up. If only there was some kind of sporting event for that sort of thing…the shorter man looked as though he was sizing Jace up, with hard green eyes; he seemed a bit different than most. After finding Clary, Jace no longer thought the phrase: 

A mundane is a mundane is a mundane. 

He was glad about that because the man had subtly shifted his stance. He was a fighter. Jace would have liked to laugh in his face; a mundane trying to take on a Shadowhunter. That would have been interesting, since it looked like blood might be spilled shortly. He knew he could take him, and Jace felt the sudden desire to feel a knife in his hands.

Jace winked. “Like what you see?”

Green eyes smiled tightly. “Don’t flatter yourself wavy gravy, I just gotta talk to my friend.” he gestured to the man he called Cas.  
It looked like Green eyes saw through his maneuver. Huh.

“Shame.” Jace grinned.

“Who is?” Alec put it, voice dripping acid. “Who is he? Identify yourselves!” he barked.

The atmosphere dropped. Jace watched carefully; unlike normal mundanes, they didn’t seem stupid or afraid. Jace was willing to bet they even knew how to defend themselves. The two men exchanged small looks. Looks that could contain sentences, paragraphs, or even a whole book. Jace knew because he shared looks like that with Alec and Isabelle all the time. They were sharing one in front of him right now, and those men could see the two were having their own little pow-wow. 

So they were all on the same page; this was shaping up to end bloody, especially since it looked like they knew the man in between Alec and Isabelle-this Cas person. He had stepped in and killed a demon with ease, and with a weapon none of them had seen before. Yet he definitely not a Shadowhunter, and there were none of the usual signs of someone who lived Downworld either. He put them on edge, especially when he started telling them how much danger that they had been in, pestering and insisting that he had to come back with them. It was better just to humor him until they figured out what angle he was working, and so far he hadn’t made a move to hurt them, but when did that ever reassure Shadowhunters?

“So, this loon belongs to you?” Jace asked.

“You have no idea.” Green eyes replied.

The man…Cas gave Green eyes a look; Jace couldn’t figure out if the man was confused or annoyed. Before he could find out, he heard Clary make an impatient noise.

“Come on, you guys are Shadowhunters right?” she sounded like she wanted to say more, but cut herself off.

“Are we what?” was said in unison with, “Obviously not.” that came from Isabelle.

Jace rolled his eyes at Clary. Alec looked as if he was about to go into a lecture and point out all the ways they weren’t. Better nip that in the bud, but Clary beat him to it, looking straight at this Cas person.

“What about you? Are you a Shadowhunter?”

He…Cas looked confused for a moment, tilting his head like a bird, strangely enough. Jace turned to the man to her the answer. He felt more than saw the mundane men were frozen with anxiety.

“No…I am an angel of the Lord.” the man intoned.

Silence. No one quite knew what to say to that, but Jace turned to the two men, somehow his subconscious had decided that the mundanes would have an answer. Alec, Clary, and Simon seemed to have the same idea. They turned their eyes to the men. Green eyes looked uncomfortable at the scrutiny, even more so than the taller one. Green eyes slapped a palm to his face, the sound like a gunshot and his shoulders were still rigid. Tall looked fairly horrified and had gritted his teeth.

Jace’s intuition was doing odd flip-flops. They had looked like they believed it, that they were thinking just how to cover this up, like Cas had just revealed a big dangerous secret. This had to be nonsense right? Lesser Nephilim might have made some sort of shocked exclamation, but Jace knew a small part of him was mockingly speaking to him.

‘Just what is that phrase again?’

This was different. Unexpectedly, he flashed back to the conversation he had with Clary in the church. When they had their discussion about God right before they took off to the Dumort to save rat-boy. The sensible, modern part of Jace came to his defense, ready to help Jace’s mind’s sense of self-preservation. He turned to Cas.

“We don’t sell strait jackets here.” he was unable to come up with anything wittier.

“I am not deceiving you.”

Cas’s eyes pierced into him. They were eerie, vivid, and impossibly bright. They reminded Jace of the Fair Folk, and he knew then, knew with some deep, hidden part of himself that he was afraid. This man was not human. Not in any way, and Jace could actually feel the man’s power. It felt small at first, but began to bubble up, like water from some deep well and it steadily rose, like a fountain pouring over. Suddenly it was very overwhelming, and very there. He had been stupid not to notice it sooner, and even more suddenly it seemed very familiar, as though he knew it once upon a time and he used to swim in that fountain. As if from far away, he could hear a few people make some kind of noise, like a gasp or a sigh. Maybe some kind of tug and pull; a large rope that pulled him beneath water…

“Cas.”

Someone spoke. It was Green eyes. Jace thought he heard the man’s voice had shaken. The world came back into focus. Green eyes did look a bit shaky, and Tall kept looking worriedly at everyone. Cas blinked, as though he had also been affected. 

“Cas?” Tall asked.

“We.” Cas gestured, voice steady. He gestured to the two men. “Will request asylum, it is imperative.” 

“Asylum?” echoed Alec and Tall incredulously.

“Cas-” Green eyes looked about to protest.

“Sure why not.” Isabelle flippantly cut everyone off. “We’re a charitable bunch when we feel like it.” she smiled.

Alec looked like he wasn’t the only one about to protest, but Isabelle glared fiercely at them. Jace smirked; typical Isabelle, her expression said this:

“There are more of us than them. If they start anything, we can handle it.”

Her feral grin told him he was exactly right.

“You just think they’re cute.”

She grinned even wider.

“Come on in.”

Green eyes grinned at hearing this, but he pointed it out all the same.

“Come in where? It’s just a bunch of-”

Cas walked swiftly to the men’s sides, ignoring the Lightwoods on either side of him. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Their reactions were amusing for Jace.

Green eyes’ was louder. “What the fu-”

The Taller one cut him off, eyes wide with awe.

“Cleans up good.” He smiled at them, as if manners were now usable, “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean.”

Dean briefly waved. “Yo.” 

Alec jerked his head, “Come on then.”

Jace rolled his eyes. About time; it had been too tense for too long. Everyone began to file up to the entrance; the strangest group so far seen. Jace watched Clary whisper something to rat-boy. It set his teeth on edge, but Clary smiled softly with undisguised warmth. His belly clenched; his… sister…who had every right to look at someone like that. Clary brushed past, close enough for him to smell her shampoo; he nearly flinched. Of course she’d want to come along. Perfect.

“Can’t resist either?” he mocked. “Really think this is a good idea?”

Clary glared at him. “I have every right to be here.”

Jace took one look at her expression and took a mental step back. Clary nodded, almost as though she could read his mind. She turned to Simon.

“I’ll see you later.”

Simon looked ready to protest, and Jace was vindictively pleased to see that Clary looked a touch annoyed. Suddenly Jace felt a strong irritation at Simon’s protectiveness. 

“We won’t eat her.” Jace made a shooing motion and deliberately tugged on Clary’s arm.

Simon didn’t look cowed, but a flush flared up in his face. Clary took one look and quickly moved back to Simon’s side. Jace felt another irrational swoon of anger; he refused to acknowledge it and quickly grimaced. Clary gave Simon a brief hug, before she turned around to dash into the Institute, only stopping to give Jace a heated glare. He felt another sharp thrill go through him. Jace managed to see Simon angrily pivot away from him and hail a cab. Jace didn’t feel a squinch of guilt as he walked inside the imposing cathedral.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The lift was cramped, which didn’t help with the awkward silence of strangers being pressed together. For the record it went like this:

Sam, the tallest of the three men, and possibly the group, was towering over Alec, trying not to fall on top of the younger boy. Isabelle and Dean were sandwiched together, which neither seemed to mind. Sam had mouthed, ’Jailbait.’ in his direction, but was ignored. The two were jostling the others, making nearly everyone topple over. Jace nearly tripped Clary as she struggled to remain untrampled by tugging on his shirt. Their tug and pull war was sending them careening into Sam and Alec, who both seemed mortified. Only Cas had managed to remain completely still no matter how many times the elevator shook.

“Is this a good idea?” hissed Alec, who then blushed at how audible he was.

“No. Your sister just wanted to invite sociopaths to dinner for fun.” Jace replied sarcastically.

“We’re really not crazy.” Dean offered, a sly grin ruining his words.

“Now that is a shame.” Isabelle grinned back.

Alec made a face nearly identical to Sam’s. “Sorry about him.” he said to Alec, who just grunted.

“I only meant that mundanes usually aren’t…allowed.” Alec replied.

“That why your boyfriend didn’t come along?” asked Dean to Clary.

“He isn-” Clary started.

“Yes, and he is.” Jace interrupted. “They are inseparable…like rabbits.”

“Jace!” Clary shrieked, red faced. She managed to hit him on the arm.

The elevator clanged to a halt, doors screaming open in sudden protest. Everyone tumbled out, like a pile of kittens dumped out of a box. Only Cas remained upright. He stared curiously at them, as though humans sprawled on the floor was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Cas very delicately walked out of the elevator and carefully avoided stepping on anyone as they all picked themselves up. He received a few looks, but he just tilted his head.

“We’ll use the kitchen. Mom’s been in the study all day, and probably won’t come out at all. This way.”

Isabelle imperiously sashayed the way. Jace smirked at how Dean’s eyes flared in mild interest. Typical; his sister wore confidence like a fashion accessory. In this way, she was different from her-from Maryse. Maryse had not so much as spared him a glance, or rather, one that wasn’t cold. It filled him with dread. Maryse had never been considered a warm person, but she had never looked at him like that. Jace knew, with a sinking feeling, that it had to do with Valentine.

“Hurry up!” Isabelle called.  
________________________________________________________________________  
A few ways from the entryway and the hallway that led to the kitchen, sat Maryse. She was indeed in the study, sitting at the large mahogany desk, and unable to leave. For eternity it seemed, even though she had only arrived two days earlier. She had been trying to compose a letter and put down the things that needed to be said. Maryse, feeling quite old, ignored the faint ghostly sounds coming from the kitchen.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The kitchen had a guarded air; the defenses were starting to come back, but not for the purposes of life preservation, so that was something. Sam, Dean, and Cas sat on one side of the table. Jace, Alec, Clary, and Isabelle on the other.

“So…you must be really big fans.” Clary broke the silence.

“Scuse’ me?” Dean asked. 

“Well…Sam and Dean.” she stated meaningfully, “a…what’s it called? An Impala?”

“Oh God.” Dean groaned. “Nooooo-you’re one of Chuck’s fans?”

“Chuck?”

“Carver Edlund.” Sam supplied.

Clary’s expression cleared. “Oh no, I’m not. That’s Simon, the boy who was with me.” she clarified. 

Jace snickered. “No surprises there.”

Jace was promptly elbowed by Clary. 

“So then…what you guys did at the convention.” Clary asked, curiosity getting the better of her. 

Jace and his siblings looked confused, so Clary told them what happened at the convention. When she finished, Sam was the one who gave the explanation. The Shadowhunters looked skeptical, but now it was mixed with a kind of studious curiosity. As if they found a particularly interesting species of monkey.

“Really?” Isabelle asked.

“Really?” Jace mocked. “That’s a shocker.”

“Really.” Dean answered. His reply wasn’t nearly as sarcastic but it could get there.

“There’s-” Sam began.

“Surprising thing for a mundane to do.” Alec interrupted. 

“What the hell does that even mean?!” Dean snapped.

“A normal human.” Clary explained. 

The other teenagers gave her a brief warning looking, and then Jace shrugged. 

“People who can’t see the shadow world. There are things that are…um…magical, and normal people can’t see them. Not in a metaphorical sense, but…argh, I’m not explaining this right.” she spread her hands.

“People like you.” Jace interrupted, exaggerating his rude tone.

Sam gave a self-deprecating smile. “We’re not exactly normal.”

“We’re hunters.” Dean said, as if this was enough explanation.

The two brothers exchanged their own look before taking it further.

“I’m not really sure what you mean by the shadow world, but there are things that exist that most people don’t know about-” Sam spoke quietly.  
Jace opened his mouth again, but Clary shushed him. Isabelle gave her a grateful look.

“Monsters are real.” Dean cut in. “We hunt em’” 

Sam shot his brother an annoyed look as Alec and Isabelle exchanged surprised looks.

“How?” Alec began.

“Really?” Jace stated dryly. “Monsters-I had no idea.”

He looked like he might go on a bit more, and Dean looked ready to do the same.

“Where can I find a unicorn?” asked Jace, more to rile Dean up than anything else. Dean seemed to understand this. “Usually in the asses of uppity teenagers.” he shot back without much heat. 

“Shut up.” Sam and Clary replied in unison.

Isabelle seemed the most amused by that.

“Sorry about him.” Clary jerked a thumb at Jace.

Sam took a guess. “Your brother?” 

Clary made a big show of rolling her eyes. “Unfortunately.” 

“Then I’m sorry about mine.” Sam smiled. “It’s been a crazy day.”

Clary could sympathize.

Alec cleared his throat. “You were saying?”

Sam blinked. “Well Dean’s right. Pretty much every single nightmare you can imagine-you name it, it exists. Hunters stop them from hurting people.” 

“Like Shadowhunters.” Clary smiled. “We do the same things. Keep people safe.”

Her words were simple, and something about them made Sam smile.

“What I’d like to know is how do these mundanes…hunters, know this?” Alec asked.

“Well not from brochures.” Dean replied, somewhat evasive. “I don’t know how it is for…Shadowhunters, but it usually isn’t pleasant.”

Nothing needed to be added to that really; the four Shadowhunters had a pretty good idea of what Dean meant. 

“This has been interesting an’ all,” Isabelle broke the spell. “But what do Hunters do for fun?”  
________________________________________________________________________  
A couple of hours, explanations, and stories later, the three guests were showed to their room. Dean had the feeling that the kids probably thought the three of them were crazy, but that’s been said before. He saw the looks they gave each other. The, If-these-guys-turn-out-to-be-stark-raving-lunitics-we-can-still-take-em’ looks. He should know, he shared quite a few of those with his brother.

“Shadowhunters huh?”

“Yeah.”

Dean sat on one of the beds. The room was spare, almost Spartan, but somehow Dean missed the skeevy motels they usually stayed in; at least those looked normal. One of the kids…Alec, had told them, this place was usually reserved for traveling Shadowhunters, and from the looks of things, could house tons. 

“They’re just kids.” Sam sounded vaguely shocked.

“Yeah well…” Dean trailed off. “I know.”

He knew what Sammy was getting at, but they didn’t exactly have a shining example of childhood either. He could see from his brother’s face, that he knew what he meant.

“Just wow. I mean did you see the looks they were giving us?” 

Dean nodded. It reminded him of when he first met Rufus or Gordon. Just a bit different because it was a new species, like if a tiger met a lion in a dark alleyway. It was kinda creepy. 

“Hopefully they won’t go Children of the Corn’ on our ass.” he grinned at Sam.

Sam laughed at bit as he sat down.

“Honestly, I’m just glad this is just for tonight.” Sam said.

“Yeah, thank God. Speaking of.” Dean turned to Cas. “You ditch us to go on a God hunt, but you call us up and this happens. The Hell?” Dean directed at the angel.

Cas looked up; he seemed slightly confused.

‘Serves him right.’ thought Dean.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Sam looked at the angel.

Of course, Sam looks concerned. Apocalypse or no, Dean wants to prevent chick-flick moments, and this is getting dangerously close to one.

“Try weird.” Dean considered this, “Well weirder, ever since you called us.”

Cas seemed to pause, looking meditative. “I sense something strange.”

Dean clicked his tongue. Of course an angel would sense a disturbance in the force.

Sam looked a bit worried now. “Like demon strange…?”

“Yes and no.”

“Helpful.” 

Cas gave Dean a somewhat dark look.

“It is difficult to explain. They…those children seem familiar. Not in a tangible way, but rather a power.” he seemed almost at a loss.  
Sam just looked confused.

“So…you called off your God hunt because your angel spidey-senses were tingling?”

Cas frowned, looking like he was trying to puzzle out the human expression to figure out what Dean meant.

“Yes. Something is going on in this city.” 

“Thanks Cas. That really clears things up.”

Cas frowned again, now with annoyance and Dean grinned. The angel finally seemed to understand the concept of sarcasm now. Dean turned over.

“Ok, wake me up when things make sense again.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	2. All of the above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any of the following: The Mortal Instruments, Supernatural, and the Fairyland trilogy by Holly Black, which takes place in the same universe as the Mortal Instruments. There are gonna be some cameos from that trilogy.   
> Warnings: Some violence and minor bigotry.  
> Word count: 11,860

As cliché’ as it was, it was the next day and the inhabitants of the Institute woke up and began their day. Light filtered in through the windows, so no nook, cranny, or crack escaped illumination and made it impossible for anyone to stay asleep. When Sam woke up, Dean was already gathering their things and Cas was sitting quietly, watching them. 

“Get ready.” Dean instructed. “We’ll be outta here in 5.” 

Cas hesitated. “You go. I wish to stay.”

Both turned to him. Dean looked at Cas with a strange expression. 

“Scuse me?”

“I wish to remain here. Something is…enamoring me to stay…”

Sam frowned. “Like a spell?” 

“No.” Cas paused, long enough that Sam thought he wasn’t going to elaborate. “A sort of…memory of power. An echo you could call it.” 

“Thanks for clarifying.” Dean replied dryly. 

“Um, well. Let us know when the, er, echo is done. Or really, if you need anything.” 

“Thank you.” Cas might have smiled.

Dean scowled and stalked out of the room.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Meanwhile,

Jace stood in the old study that used to be Hodge’s, and faced Maryse; the large mahogany desk was in between them. He felt defenseless from her scrutiny. Maryse was never looked at him with such cool eyes; he was her favorite. This was the first time that he found that he did not want to be in her company. His dread increased, he lowered his gaze, letting it rest on the table’s ‘legs’. The ‘legs’ were actually angels carved from the wood, their expressions filled with anguish as they struggled to hold up the heavy wood of the desk. Jace could sympathize with them; he wished he could be as expressive as them. Maybe if he was, Maryse would look at him normally again.

“Jace.”

“Maryse.”

“I raised you for 7 years, you came into our lives and I thought I knew everything about you-”

“You do.” Jace quickly interrupted. “I’m still the same person.”

Maryse’s lips thinned and Jace could feel the sudden stomach plummeting, ice water drenching terror; something wild was flying inside of his chest, frantically trying to escape. Hope was still fighting to survive. Jace inhaled sharply to control himself.

“You really didn’t know Valentine was your father?” Maryse’s expression was oddly hungry. “All those years you spent with him and you never knew?” 

Jace was shocked to realize that that Maryse was looking to him for reassurance; Mayrse, who never showed pain or uncertainty. Maryse, who was an adult.

‘Who should know these things.’ Jace thought angrily. 

“How?! He never said ‘”Oh by the way son, did I ever tell you that I was an evil overlord?”’, Jace stopped when he saw he saw Maryse’s expression. “I had no idea.”

She looked grim, as if she had already come to a decision and hardened herself to it.

“I can’t take that chance.”

Jace stared, incredulous. She was resolved; he knew she wouldn't change her mind. Jace struggled to clamp down on the hurt-he couldn't deny that, even to himself that broke like a geyser inside of him. Disappointment became just as strong inside him. Still, he wanted to give one final try.

“You've known me for 7 years…” he tried not to plead.

“I've called the Inquisitor.” she ignored Jace. “The Clave needs to know what has happened-”

“I can take it from here.”

It took all of Jace’s self-control not to make a move. He had been so preoccupied with Maryse, he didn't even notice that another person had been in the room! Was he or wasn't a Shadowhunter?!

“Who are you?” demanded Jace.

The woman blinked. She had pale, nearly colorless eyes that were framed inside a tight, angular face. Her lips were a firm line. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun and there wasn’t a single strand out of place. Her clothes were stiff, with a high collar and the color of ash. Jace had the impression that he was looking at a really tall bird of prey, just waiting to tear him out of the institute.

“I am the Inquisitor.” her voice as cold and colorless as her eyes. “I will be referred to as such.” 

The Inquisitor scrutinized Jace as though he was a dissected frog. His insides rippled with nervousness when her gaze drilled into him. He suppressed a shudder.

“I've been waiting for this, Jonathan Morgenstern.” 

“Jace.” he corrected. “And I think you should stick to someone your own age.” he added.

Maryse stifled a gasp. The Inquisitor’s eyes, if possible, became even flintier.

“Watch how you speak to me boy.”

Maryse glared sharply at Jace, and he felt a surge of anger at her. It was her fault; she brought the Inquisitor’ in this when she decided not to trust him-

“I guess I can’t help it. Sarcasm is just a part of who I am.” 

________________________________________________________________________  
The two brothers made their way downstairs. Through dimply lit corridors with old lamps stuck onto the wall’s corners. Sam guessed the building was pretty old, and he resolved to figure out what he could about the building. The ceiling was domed and the wooden beams were dark and arched. Every time they turned a corner, a carving was perched somewhere on the beams, each one looking downwards as if watching the people walking below. Instead of gargoyles, they were angels. Some carried swords, or stood tall. All manner of angels, all looking beatific and awe-striking. It was somehow managed to complement the Victorian-esque flowered wallpaper.

“It’s like a movie set.” Dean whistled softly. “Now how do we get out?” 

Sam shrugged, the winding passages and numerous rooms seemed to be designed to be imposing and confusing for those who didn’t live there. A corridor and a turn later and they wound up in the kitchen.

“Finally.” Dean smiled when he noticed where they were.

Sam smiled back; this was more familiar and there were people inside of it. Two boys, one was taller with jet black hair, and the other was smaller with glasses. It was the boy named…

“Alec right?” Dean asked.

He nodded. “Hello.”

“We’ve gotten turned around, so if you don’t mind showing us the way out, we’ll get outta your hair.” Dean said.

“Of course.” Alec turned the younger boy, “Max, go back to your room for a bit.”

The boy named Max made a face. “But…”

Alec gave the boy a look. The boy, Max, made another face before leaving the kitchen, giving both Sam and Dean curious glances. Sam felt an odd twinge of guilt and familiarity; was Alec trying to protect the boy from them, the outsiders? Sam turned to Alec, who was regarding them silently.

“Thanks for letting us stay here, especially since it was so…inconvenient for you.”

Alec looked somewhat sheepish; he knew what Sam really meant. 

“It’s no problem. This way.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary wandered down from her spare room; she was unable stay asleep any longer. She usually didn’t stay at the Institute for such lengthy amounts of time, so maybe she was just jumpy from sleeping in a place she normally didn’t occupy. She hadn’t stayed overnight unless something bad had happened…

She decided she’d have breakfast if Isabelle wasn’t going to cook it. Speaking of, Clary could see the striking figure of Isabelle standing only a few feet away. Isabelle raised her hand in greeting.

“Morning.” Clary said when she got close enough. 

Together the two walked down the brightly lit hall. Clary could tell they were moving past the kitchen, as Isabelle only craned her neck briefly before moving on. Clary raised her eyebrows.

“Um…no breakfast?”

“You can, if you want.” Isabelle sounded disinterested.

“Well what are you gonna do?” 

Clary assumed that Isabelle was going to do some type of Shadowhunter training thing.

“I wanted to see those guys off.” Isabelle smiled, slow and mischievous.

Clary felt at ease enough to tease. “Of course. Why should I be surprised?”

“Hey! Didn’t you think they were cute?” 

“Well…” 

Clary didn’t have to think too hard on that one. It was true; they were…nice looking, almost rivaling Jace. Both had green eyes, only shades apart from each other, and they both had something serious about them. Almost like Shadowhunter eyes. The kind that had seen many difficult things and Clary was curious as to what those difficult things might be. It was hard to describe, but she was reminded of Jace.   
She nodded to Isabelle, who had already looked decisive about Clary’s assessment of the two men.

“How old do you think they are?” Clary asked.

Isabelle shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Clary laughed. Typical Isabelle. They had already reached the hallway to Hodge’s old study, the heavy doors were closed. Sudden raised voices made them stop. Voices raised in anger could be heard from behind the heavy doors, which meant that the discussion was getting heated. Isabelle’s eyes widened. 

“That’s mom and Jace.” 

Isabelle pressed herself against the door, black hair obscuring one side of her face. Clary stared for a moment before hissing:

“What are you doing?”

“Shhh.” 

Isabelle made a gesture with her hand. Clary looked around the hall, paranoid that someone would appear in seconds. She quickly went to Isabelle’s side, pressing her ear tightly to the door. The wood was thick, the voices managing to sound soft even though they must be loud and tense from the other side. She could recognize Jace’s voice; he sounded…pleading?

Clary shivered; what could be happening to make him sound so…vulnerable, or was it different? She couldn’t tell what he was feeling and that bothered her more that she’d like to say. Then there was Maryse, whose voice sounded pinched, as though she was squeezing a live wire to some kind of terrible bomb. She didn’t sound as though she was in much of a command of anything, which seemed out of character from what Clary had heard of her. The third voice was unrecognizable, but nevertheless sent shivers down Clary’s spine. 

“What are you doing?”

Clary jumped. She turned around. It was Alec, along with Sam and Dean. The three looked on at the two girls with varying degrees of amusement. Clary felt an all-consuming heat suddenly occupying her face. Mortified, she was unable to speak. Isabelle however, was unabashed. She made a shushing motion in annoyance.

“Hush. It’s getting good.” 

Isabelle winked before turning her attention back to the door. The voices were starting to get louder; there wasn't a need to press an ear against the door anymore. The third voice had said something, and Jace responded. Clary could tell by his tone, that it was something snarky and possibly caustic. It was a familiar tone, and from the way the stranger responded, is was someone who wasn't tolerating it. They yelled, and Jace cut her off and Clay could actually here what he said:

“-I’ll prove it. I’ll take the Trial of the Sword.” 

Clary whirled to face Isabelle. The other girl had a strange expression on her face, and she had paled considerably.

“What is that?! What does he mean?! Isabelle!” 

Clary grabbed Isabelle’s shoulders roughly and had to repress the urge to shake her. Isabelle wouldn't look directly at her, but at something she couldn’t see. Clary knew that Isabelle was just as worried as she was. Alec looked stunned. Sam and Dean looked confused, seemingly unaware of what exactly was going on, except that it was serious.

The third voice was speaking again, angry and haughty, and something…happy. A voice that Clary didn't want anywhere near Jace. A sudden surge of protectiveness and indignation rose up in Clary like a heat wave. Ignoring everything else but the sound of her own heart hammering in her chest, Clary pushed the doors wide open with a bang.

The sound made everyone jump. Maryse looking shocked and angered, and Jace’s face was completely drained of color, looking at Clary as though he had just fallen down a flight of stairs. He made a sort of strangled cry, when he probably wanted to say something. The stranger on the other hand, barely spared her a glance or at any of the others. She had been in the middle of speaking, and wasn't going to stop for anything. 

“Just as arrogant as your father-”

She continued, stating Maryse’s incompetence and possible disloyalty, including all of the Lightwoods in that category. Then she moved on to talk about the Law and their blatant disregard for it, the mercy of the Clave, and finally ending with Valentine’s list of crimes.

“If you want to prove your worth, then a night in the Silent City would do you some good.” her smile was terrible.

Maryse blanched. “Imogen-”

“Inquisitor!” she barked.

Jace was suddenly silent. At this, The Inquisitor’s eyes gleamed with a dreadful triumph. Clary looked wildly at the faces in the room, trying gauge the situation. Isabelle was staring at her mother in something akin to horror. Alec however, was staring at Jace and the Inquisitor with a mixture of irritation and resignation.

“You see.” the Inquisitor crowed, gesturing at Jace as if he were some kind of exotic animal. “Even someone like him will learn the lessons needed to be taught. The Silent City is doing its job already. Come here, Jonathan.” 

Jace walked forward slowly, almost like slow motion. The Inquisitor pulled out her stele. 

“Jonathan Morgenstern. Until further notice you are suspended from duty and will stay in the Silent City until morning.”

“Lucky me.” Jace croaked.

“MOM.” Isabelle spoke up. “Do something!”

Maryse just nodded her head at the Inquisitor, and the other woman made her way to the door. 

“Mom-”

Maryse’s face was taunt. “Isabelle be quiet.” 

“How can you do this?!” Clary suddenly shouted. “This is-”

“Clary.” Jace’s voice was pleading and angered simultaneously.

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Just because Valentine is your father-”

“Which is exactly why The Clave wants to speak to him.” The Inquisitor interrupted, her gaze frosting over Clary. “Unlike you, he was not lucky enough to escape his father’s influence. Don’t think that means you will be exempt. Wickedness runs in your family. I will be watching you.” She turned back to Maryse. “I will be watching you as well; you have been in good standing so far, but I will not be deceived easily. This will not be tolerated anymore.” She surprisingly turned to regard Sam and Dean. “Actions like letting these…people inside.” She made clear how she thought of these people. “Who are?”

“Nobody.” Dean spoke up quickly. “These people are leaving.”

Sam nodded once to Maryse and the rest of the Lightwoods, and Dean gave a sympathetic look in Jace’s direction before the two quickly strode down the hall. Clary shivered at the Inquisitor’s callous glare, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. She was ready to shout at this harpy woman.

“Clary.” Jace directed. “It’s ok, just leave it.” 

“No its not!” 

“Be quiet you silly girl!” The Inquisitor shouted.

With a final dismissive glance, the Inquisitor gripped Jace’s arm in a vice-like grip and bodily led him out of the room. Alec had tried to catch Jace’s eye, but he didn’t bother to turn around and look back at any of them. Clary took in the faces of Jace’s family, each one a different kind of defeated. It just made her angrier.

“How could you?” 

Anger actually made it difficult to speak, and their pale unresponsiveness just made her even more enraged. Isabelle’s eyes looked oddly bright, but Clary didn’t care enough to know why. 

“You’re his family! Why would you let that-that women take him away!” she shouted.

“He…shouldn’t have mouthed off to The Inquisitor. That’s why she-” Alec’s voice was wooden, almost like he was reciting a piece of information.

“Mouthed off?” Clary was incredulous. “Who wouldn’t mouth off to that-” no words seemed proper to describe the horrible woman, or were good enough for Clary.

“He is a solider, and she is high in the Clave’s chain of command. It was a bad idea, and he should have known better-” Alec cut himself off.

“We know how you feel.” Isabelle cut in. “It’s that-”

“Enough.” Maryse interrupted. “Clarissa its time you went home.” 

Clary looked at both Alec and Isabelle, unable to speak. She just couldn’t understand; it must have been written on her face, but that wasn’t enough for any of them. She drew in a shaky breath, and she really hoped that she wouldn’t cry in front of them. 

“Fine.” 

She cast one last look at the study, and her eyes found the desk with the angels carved on the bottom. Their faces contorted horribly, and Clary knew she didn’t want to be in the room any longer. She raised her eyes back to Isabelle and Alec.

“Screw you.” she put as much venom in her voice as possible.

She raced out of the Institute’s doors as fast as she could.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean slammed down the trunk of the Impala. He could see a bit of the imposing cathedral, but only if he squinted hard enough or looked out of the corner of his eye. It honestly gave him the creeps.

“Think we dodged a bullet.” 

Sam nodded. “They called her the Inquisitor; I think that sums it up nicely.”

They climbed in and Dean started the ignition. As soon as they pulled out of the space, a shape hurtled past and Dean slammed on the brakes.

“Whoa!”

Sam unclenched his hands from their death grip on his seat and stared. The person who had darted out in front of them hadn’t moved, and stood staring back.

“Red?” Dean called.

“Clary.” Sam reminded.

“Right.” Dean stuck his head out the window. “Need a ride?” 

Clary seemed a little dazed. “Yeah sure, great thanks.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
Surprisingly, there were no jobs that they could see. Clary didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere either. 

“So…I take it was bad after we left?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.” 

Clary didn’t seem like she was going to say anything more, but she surprised them by suddenly talking. She relayed the whole argument, and then explained that Jace was adopted by the Lightwoods. She had poured all her frustration into her story. 

“And you’re also his sister?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah. I just found out recently. I thought I was just a normal only child, but now…” she paused, “I never realized how strange that is.”

“I actually know what you mean.” Dean replied.

“You do?” Clary looked hopeful. 

“We had a half-brother named Adam.” Sam supplied. “We didn’t know about him until recently.”

“Oh. Had?” 

After a exchanging a look, Dean replied. “He died.”

“Oh.” Clary was shocked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Dean waved it off. “You didn’t know.”

“How was it that you were raised apart?” Sam asked, changing track. 

Clary paused. “My…our parents split up, because mom didn’t want to be around…Valentine.”

She gave a hasty explanation on who Valentine was and what he did. There was a stunned silence when she was finished speaking, but Clary felt glad that she was shedding this story, that there was someone to tell it to who had no stake in the whole thing. She even felt lighter, ready to float up and away from that nightmare.

Dean whistled. “Still wanna hang around Shadowhunters?” 

“Your job seems pretty dangerous too.” she countered.

Dean made a shrugging motion, as if to say, “To each their own.”

“So there really are no jobs?” Clary began cautiously.

“Yeah. Why?” Sam turned in the back seat, catching Clary’s hesitant smile.

“Well…I could show you the city.” Clary offered.

“Why not.” Dean smiled. 

Not bad for a day off.  
________________________________________________________________________  
True to her word, Clary showed them around the city. She didn’t take them on the tourist routes, but the more fun places. She showed them Pandemonium, explaining that it was a favorite haunt for Downworlders. 

“Clubbing for monsters. Go figure.” Dean muttered. 

“New York really does have everything.” Sam was half teasing, half amazed. 

“You don’t know the half of it.” Clary laughed. 

A few blocks later, Sam’s phone rang. He quickly answered it. 

“Hello?” 

“Sam.” An excited breathy voice replied. A voice he recognized.

Sam tried not to groan; Dean gave him a questioning glance.

“Becky. Hi.” 

Dean snorted with laughter, not stopping even when Sam shot him his darkest bitch face.

“You remembered!” she managed to be breathy and still squeal.

“Er…yes I did.” Sam glanced back at Dean. “How did you get this number?”

“It was in Chuck’s phonebook.” 

“…Oh, um well-” Sam floundered. “What did you need?” he cringed.  
Apparently, this was all she needed. She giggled. “Naughty! Well, remember at the convention, when we were talking? I didn’t get a chance to tell you the rest of it-did you ever read the last book?” she didn’t wait for him to reply. “Well at the end when Bela gave the colt back, she didn’t give it to Lilith-”

At this, Sam did cut her off. “Wait what?” Dean glanced up at the sharp tone.

“She gave it to another demon named Crowley. I think it was because they were close or something-”

“Wait hang on-”

Sam put the phone on speaker. “Ok go on.”

“So she gave the colt to Crowley, and there’s even an address!”

Sam quickly scribbled it down on an old napkin as Becky hurriedly recited it. “Thanks Becky.”

Sam barely registered her chirrup of farewell before hanging up.

“So you’ve got a job?” Clary asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry we gotta cut this short.” Dean added.

“No its ok. You can drop me off here.” Clary pointed to the street corner. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I can take the subway.” 

Clary slid out of the backseat with ease. Sam nodded to her, but Dean paused for a moment.  
“If your brother means that much to you, then you should look after each other. Family makes its own rules.”   
He smiled at her and in that moment, he was lovelier that Jace could ever hope to be and then it vanished. He gave her a brief wave. Clary watched them speed off down the road. She gave them a small smile as they got smaller and smaller.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Think this is legit?” Dean asked.

“It’s this or nothing.” Sam replied.

“True.”

Sam pulled out his phone again, dialing rapidly.

“Who you calling now?”

“Jo. We could use her help.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
It was twilight in Central Park and the children had already gone, and the next shift of bikers and joggers now used the paths. There were quite a number of people there, but there was one all by herself and she was the one that should be paid attention to.  
She was here on a job. She flexed her pale fingers before balling them into fists. The iron in her pockets felt comfortable, as well as the slender stone that was hanging around her neck. She strode down the path, dark eyes searching out the secret places. She stepped off the path and went into the small woods that surrounded the park. Ignoring the couples that hidden themselves inside the tangled brambles, her arms pushed past the fading foliage. The light was fading fast, and she picked up her stride; her leather jacket kept the chill away, not that she needed it to. 

A faint sound could be heard on the breeze. Pausing, her body strained to hear more. There it was: sweet notes that were occasionally pierced with a sour pang, like finding a nail in a featherbed. She grinned; she was on the right track. 

It didn’t take long after that. They were easy to spot once you knew where to look. Faeries. All shapes and sizes. Ones that were made of bark, little men with wicked looking teeth, and slender things that moved eerily. Their eyes were wild and feral, and gorgeous. There was nothing human about them. 

She grinned, wider this time. So many to choose from and so little time. A woman faerie with hair made entirely out of vines brushed past her and she shivered. They didn’t even smell human. She followed the vine woman and pushed past a patch of thorny rosebushes. A sudden tug and pull sensation told her she was now in a different place, and her body wriggled at the shift. 

A plethora of faeries surrounded a small clearing. There was a banquet table in the center and it was bending under the weight of its contents. It was heaped with fruits in wild colors, roasted meat and figs, and black water was being served in pale goblets.   
Music was being played on harps with strings that were probably unpleasant things; that made her smile. The musicians were lounging on rugs and pillows that seemed to be made from human hair, and tiny sprites darted around in the branches above them, sparkling in time to the beat.  
She scanned for a face. So many faces. Faces like foxes, and birds, and bark. Dresses spun from cobwebs, and leaves that still held dewdrops. Everything looked so fragile, and fleetingly pretty; even though she knew that applied more to humans than anything else. These creatures were vivid and timeless. 

“Your glamour is strange. Are you one of us?” a voice asked. 

She turned. She had no idea what kind of a faerie he was, but from a sudden pulse at her throat, she knew his age.   
“What a question. What does make a human?” 

The answer seemed to please him, and when he smiled his teeth were all points, like bone. He plucked a fruit from the table and handed it to her. It was pale, and the pit was visible beneath. It was soft and smooth and smelled sweet. Well there has never been a fruit not worth eating, and she bit into it.

She moaned in delight. It was meaty, a chunk of it slid down her throat; the smoky, spicy taste reminded her of home. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly as she sucked the pulp down. When she held the black pit in her hand she quickly bit into it. The earthy, bitter flavor burst in her mouth and she longed for more.

Suddenly the music was sweeter, and she loved the bitter piercing tone that unexpectedly shot through the song. She swayed to it, feeling herself drown in it. She turned to the fey boy. His eyes were the color of raspberries and when he licked his lips, his tongue was black. She never wanted to leave; the stone pulsed at her throat and it seemed to drive needles into her neck in warning. She looked at him and could feel her smile become slow and liquid.

“Come walk with me.” 

He led her to a small path, and she hummed in time to the leaves rustling at their feet. The boy stopped once they were under a dogwood tree, its bark gleaming darkly. He sat beneath it, and his smile was terrible and handsome all at once. She sauntered to him, pressing herself onto the cold crushed grass next to him.

“Riddle prettily for me.”

His slim fingers wound themselves into her hair; she purred when his claws struck her scalp. She burrowed into his skin, and he laughed.

“Hmmm, let’s see. What makes one human?” she recited. “Go to a place with sulfur sunsets and see how well you fare.”

He hummed appreciatively as his teeth nipped her lips, sending spasms throughout her body. She let her fingers graze her jeans as lightly as she could, just so she could give herself a little bit of torture. She had effectively pinned the fey boy beneath her, and his otherworldly heat competed with hers. She reached into her pocket, and felt the cold, reassuring weight inside. 

“Mary Mary quite contrary.” She growled.

She let her lips crash down on his, feeling his laughter rumble up into her throat. She felt the cold bar in her hand, and she brought it closer. Giving one last plunging kiss, she made her move. He didn’t see it coming; she moved her mouth a fraction away from his and replaced it with a bar of iron. His shriek of pained surprise was quickly cut off. Growling, she threw all of her weight onto him, one hand pressed over his mouth and nose. He could not spit the iron out, and his eyes bulged as he could no longer get any air. His chest heaved up and down like prey. She took one look at his terror stricken face and laughed.

It was a high pitched laugh that pierced the air and could cut frost. She laughed long and loud. His body was now in the death throes, but he was still aware. She giggled, and bucked her hips to match his spasms. He finally went still, she sighed and the wind sprayed down the petals of the tree, sending them fluttering down onto the ground, into her hair, and on the faerie corpse.

She bent down to see his face, swollen from choking and eyes still open. His expression was rigid with shock. She nuzzled his neck before moving to get up. She ran a hand through her tousled curls, letting the air cool her nape. 

“Thanks for the party.” 

She stood up and hauled his body up and over her shoulder like a sack of meat, and walked back onto the path.

Meg wondered which shortcut she should take.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Jace sat in his cell, letting his vision adjust and he shifted to get more comfortable. He felt another traitorous thudding of unease; his breathing would not settle. Shadows danced on the walls, turning into shapes, and inched closer to him. Jace jumped, before shifting in shame; no one was here to see him behave like a coward, but still…

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself as far as his manacles would allow. Jace was led down here by The Inquisitor herself, but now he only had the company of The Silent Brothers and the dead Nephilim that were cremated and laid to rest in the mausoleum. Nothing to fear, but the feeling wouldn’t subside. 

‘It’s only for one night.’ he reasoned. 

This would be simple; the easiest thing he had done in a long time. He sighed; he wanted to say something to break the silence, but somehow that seemed blasphemous. He was still Nephilim and this was a part of his path, being afraid was unbecoming of a warrior.

‘Just what daddy taught.’

A high piercing scream rent the air. Jace jumped, his manacles jangled warily and they chafed at his skin. He gasped in pain, but quickly stifled it. Every instinct in him screamed at him to stay quiet, to not move, and hope that whatever it was did not come near him. More screams shot through the walls, bouncing down the darkened corridors. Almost like ghosts talking to each other, repeating the horrors that had been done to them. Jace’s teeth chattered, clacking together like mocking laughter.

‘Get it together.’ 

He shuddered when another set of screams ran amok; screams of people who were unused to terror, the voices climbing higher and higher. As if the screams were being ripped out of them with such terrible violence that Jace flinched. Each sharp cry made him jump and rock back and forth. The screams belonged to the Silent Brothers. People who hadn’t uttered a sound in years were suddenly crying out. They were terrified. 

‘There is nothing to fear from the City of Bones, so it must be something external. Something must have gotten in.’ Jace inhaled sharply. ’But what could it be?!’ 

His heart was pounding hard enough to hurt, and his vision started to spot and blur. He never felt this way before, and he longed to drown out the sounds assaulting his ears. He couldn’t picture what was causing the panic, but he could picture the panic itself well enough. Faces contorted with pain and fear swam up in his vision as the threat of…some kind of violence was being carried out. 

A shadow leapt out and Jace shouted. Was that the sound of footsteps just now? The faint tinkling of laughter. He gritted his teeth, feeling his body shrink back into a corner. He bit his lips to prevent himself from whimpering and tasted blood. More shadows moved, as if they were running away. Something was groaning and wheezing, dragging its feet. 

Jace was shaking, eyes wildly searching for anything that could be a weapon. It came into view, and a low moaning came out. It took him a minute to realize it was coming from him and Jace flushed with shame. It came into full view and staggered, clutching its chest. It was a Silent Brother-

Jeremiah!

He suddenly pitched, like being pushed down a flight of stairs. He hit the ground with a loud thump, like a sack of meat. Blood was welling and his mouth was a too full cup, its contents pouring out. It was coming towards him, and a deep throated giggling was coming from the end of the hall; it announced the arrival of the blood that was flowing towards Jace’s feet. He scrambled to get away from it; it was the only color in the room. 

The door was creaking open, and a tiny smidgen of light came from the cracks, deepening the shadows. Jace knew it was witchlight, but the brightness was hurting his eyes, and sending him reeling. The door was groaning and the giggling turned to singsong.   
Jace could no longer breathe properly; things were just behind that door and only rusted iron bars stood between him and pain. His hands went to his chest; and he had the crazy thought that his heart might pop out and bounce away. The noises stopped, and a figure came out from behind the door like some boogeyman from a childhood nightmare. The person didn’t look like anything; Jace’s mind couldn’t focus on any details, except for one thing-

The person’s eyes were jet black. 

No color, pupil, or iris, just two pits. Jace stuck a fist into his mouth to keep from screaming. When the person smiled, Jace all but shrieked.

“Found ya.” 

Its voice carried down into the hall, repeating itself down the bloodstained passage way. It gripped a witchlight stone hard, letting the light bleach the world into clarity. Jace shivered as a second set of witchlight began to correspond with the already present light. Someone else was coming.

‘What now?!’ Jace wanted to wail. 

The door creaked further as the second, larger figure came into view. This one was familiar, but that didn’t help. It was Valentine.

“Thank you.” he addressed it, before turning to Jace. “Jonathan.” 

The witchlight was making him tear up, and he’d be damned if he would whimper in front of them. Valentine bent down to Jace’s level and was searching his face intently, and Jace shied away from the scrutiny. He wanted to stand tall and meet his father’s gaze evenly, but he simply couldn’t do it. Every muscle in his body shook and screamed. 

“Who put you in here? The Lightwoods?” Valentine’s voice was soft and there was anger.

Jace tried not to whimper. At the sound of that voice, he was a small boy again, playing on their front lawn and waiting to be scooped up into Valentine’s arms. Even the fact that Valentine was angry on his behalf was enough to make him mewl in gratitude. He didn’t want to feel this way. 

“The Inquisitor.” Jace managed to gasp.

Valentine made an ugly expression but smoothed into something else. “I see. So the Clave no longer trusts you.”

“No thanks to you.” 

“It would have happened either way. The Clave is corrupt, and anyone willing to defy it is summarily destroyed.”

‘Then you aren’t that different after all.’ He gritted his teeth. 

Valentine somehow looked gentle. “Unfortunately, I cannot trust you yet. I would like to, but since you are still so closely tied with those who want to destroy me, I cannot.”

“Well don’t worry, I don’t trust you either.” Jace willed his voice not to tremble.

Valentine smiled. “I have found a way to defeat the Clave.”

Jace’s eyes widened. He finally noticed the thickly strapped weapon across Valentine’s back. A sword and one that looked familiar. Valentine noticed where Jace’s gaze had gone. He pulled the blade out of its sheath; it made an impressive ringing when released. It was a huge sword, its hilt in the shape of a pair of outstretched wings. It thrummed with power and Jace shivered. 

“Is that…?” 

“Maellartach.” Valentine’s voice was filled with awe. “When you are ready for this and what I stand for, then you will find me.”

The person with the black eyes looked up, startled. “Hey-they’re here.”

“Ah, yes thank you.” Valentine re-sheathed the sword. “Well until we meet again.”

Valentine turned his back on Jace and went to leave. Jace’s heart sped up again, and he nearly screamed, but instead-

“Wait-just unchain me at least!” he shouted. “Can’t you do that for me at least?!”

“That wouldn’t do you any good.” He followed the black eyed person. “Good bye Jonathan.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, Simon’s name glowing on the screen. She waited a few moments before flipping it open.

“Yeah.”

“Hey. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” 

“Oh yeah, I’ve kept it off all day. I’ve actually spent the day with Sam and Dean.”

“Those two guys that spent the night at the Institute?” 

“Yup.” 

Clary filled him in on the day’s events.

“What?! Holy crap. Guess I missed an important day. Wow, I actually feel sorry for Jace.”

“Simon.” 

“Well fine, but that Inquisitor lady sounds kinda bonkers. Better stay outta her way.”

“No problems there, but I’ve got a bad feeling…”

“Same here. You said she represents the Clave. You sure you wanna keep hanging around-”

“Yes.” Clary kept her voice firm. “There is something I want to tell you. I’m gonna bust Jace out.” she heard Simon’s sharp intake of breath.

“No way. Really?”

Clary thought back on Dean’s parting words. “Yeah.”

“Wait, tell me where you are. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll go together.”

Clary hesitated. “No. It’s fine.”

“Figures.” He sounded resigned, and a bit of something else.

“What does-wait never mind. I’ll see you soon.” 

“I better. Later.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary stood on the front steps of the Institute, brass knocker heavy in her hand. She took a shuddery breath; she had every right to be here!  
“I am Clarissa Morgenstern, one of the Nephilim and I ask permission for entrance-”

No sooner than the words left her mouth did the doors fly open. Clary jumped back in surprise before striding into the doorway and down the aisles of pews. She pulled the elevator doors open and stepped inside. Getting inside to the marble foyer was easy, and she was glad that she remembered where Isabelle’s room was. She stood outside Isabelle’s door, anxiety roiling in her stomach; she hoped that she wasn’t too upset from their last conversation. She knocked on the door, nerves making the sound jangle.

“Isabelle, you there?” 

Clary thought that maybe no one heard her, but suddenly the door was yanked open.

“Clary?!” Isabelle’s face was a portrait of shock. “What are you doing here?” 

Clary winced. “…I’m sorry. About earlier today.” she hesitated. “Can I come in?”

Isabelle suddenly looked drawn. “Yeah. Alright.” 

Isabelle swung her down open and Clary rushed in. It was as she remembered it. Clothes strewn in tandem with weapons and girly products littered her dresser drawer. The same wallpaper was in place, making it Isabelle’s. It was entirely hers, and Clary felt an unexpected rush of affection. 

“I came to say I’m sorry.” 

“Well that’s all well and good.” Isabelle replied, then seeing Clary’s expression, added. “It’s fine. We’re good; I’m not surprised you reacted like that.” 

Clary looked around. Alec and Cas were in the room also. This seemed unusual, but that was probably ideal for what Clary wanted to do.  
“There’s something else.” she hesitated. 

“There always is with you.” Isabelle groaned.

Clary made a disbelieving noise.

“She is right.” Alec put in. 

“I’m going to get Jace.”

This was met with disbelieving looks. Clary wasn’t going to waver, and she stood straighter.

“I know that Jace is pretty much a solider and he did something wrong-” she put air quotes on the word wrong, “but he is in trouble, I just know it. Besides, he shouldn’t be in there anyway.” She looked intently at them. “I only came back to see if you guys wanted to help.” 

Alec looked ready to say something, but a sudden ringing stopped him.

“Who is that now?” snapped Isabelle.

“What is that?” Clary asked. 

“It’s a phone.” Alec explained, then clarifying, “Well obviously, I mean for calls for when we are needed. Where we’re supposed to go and such.” He followed Isabelle. “So someone needs help.” 

They all made to follow Isabelle into the study, but she was too quick and was back before they could get into the room. She looked tense; her whole body was ready for a fight.

“Well Clary I guess you got lucky. I just got a call from the Silent City. Something has attacked the Silent Brothers, but the details are sketchy.”

Alec was all business. “Who is available for this?”

Isabelle’s face was grim. “Just us.” 

Alec made a shrugging motion. “Then we have to go.” 

She nodded. “Alright then.” 

Clary was glad that she brought her stele, and she wondered if they were going to have to wear fighting gear.

“You can’t-”

“I can and I will.” Clary frowned. “Jace is my brother. So I will come with you.” 

“I will accompany you also.” Cas suddenly put in.

“No-”

“I insist.” his voice was firm and his gaze intense. 

“Let him.” Isabelle snapped. “We need to move fast. Clary, did you bring your stele?”

“Of course.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
Dean led Sam and Jo down the lawn. Both flanked him silently. They had dispatched the guards at the front of the iron wrought gates and then hung back in the darkness. They were looking for a less conspicuous entrance, and when the clouds ghosted away from the moon and illuminated the ground. The soft light filtered down on their hair and eyes, making them shine. Dean stopped, raising his hand in warning. Sam and Jo halted and looked warily around. Dean pointed to a set of stairs that led down to an out of the way wooden door. He led them down the steps and Sam brushed past him to pick the lock. 

The door barely made a sound and they crept inside. From the slivers of moonlight showed that they were inside a wine cellar. Dean made a face and pulled a bottle out of the rack. He made a punch line with his expression. Sam frowned disapprovingly and Dean reluctantly put it back. Jo nudged the both boys and ducked her head in the direction of another door. Sam and Dean shared a look before pulling out their guns. This door was unlocked and behind them was a set of narrow stairs that led up to a hallway. They had no choice but to go up them single file. The stairs creaked nervously beneath them, as if warning against their intrusion. With Dean and the lead, Jo behind him, and Sam bringing up the rear they made good time. The place seemed empty. It was a well-furnished place, with furniture gleaming in the dark. They were all mahogany and velvet, with paintings that were framed heavily with ornate designs. Every piece looked well taken care of and as if they had been painstakingly hunted down. 

“Nice digs.” Dean mouthed.

Jo rolled her eyes in response and Sam shushed them with his hands. Music was floating up from another room. It wasn’t hard to find; it was a good song, and it led them straight to him. The door was wide open and they could see a figure, with its-or his back to them. Dean nodded to the two and raised his gun a little higher. The music suddenly cut off, and the trio tensed. The man suddenly sat up straighter. He set down the drink he was holding.

“Well it’s about time.” his voice managed to be both smooth and gravelly. “Do you know how long I’ve had to wait for you?”

“Crowley.” Dean grimaced.

Crowley smiled. “A pleasure, etc etc.” 

Sam lifted his knife and Crowley raised his hands in mock surrender. The blade glinted menacingly, its inscription easily seen. Crowley eyed the blade with a cool distaste. 

“I assume you want the Colt?” 

The boys looked briefly surprised before smoothing their expressions into something grimmer.

“It’d be a good idea to just give it to us.” Sam let the blade shimmer.

Crowley appeared to consider this. “True. Unfortunately, I do not have it on me.”

“That’s a shame.” Sam moved to attack.

Jo grabbed his arm. “Wait.” she turned to Crowley. “So the gun hasn’t been melted down?”

“Of course not, since I was the one who started the rumors in the first place.”

“Why?” Dean was baffled. 

Crowley seemed to think this was a stupid question. “So you would be the only ones to get your hands on it.”

This confused the three of them. “What, why?” Dean asked. 

“So you can use it against Satan, the big man himself.”

“That makes no sense.” Sam put in. “You’re a demon too-”

“Oh, I forgot-I’m speaking to idiots.” 

Dean made a disparaging noise. “You’re an idiot…idiot.”

Jo rolled her eyes again. “Then humor us. Why?”

“Self-preservation. Lucifer is an angel. Once he is finished destroying humanity, who do you think he will move onto next?” 

“But…he made demons.” Dean pointed out. 

“We’re just cannon fodder, just the grunts on the ground. We all used to be humans once, but made even worse-” he gave a deprecating smile. “He has no respect for those he corrupts.” 

“So this is-” Sam began. 

“Oh boo hoo-what exactly do you want us to do about it?” Dean asked snappishly.

“I want you take the colt and shoot dear old Lucifer.” he gave them a wicked smile. “Try not to miss.” 

“If you don’t have it, then where is it?” Sam asked, still suspicious. 

“With the Faerie Queen.” Crowley replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Huh?” Dean gaped. 

“She lives in New York.” He said this with a straight face, and then elaborated. “Well, there is an entrance to her court in New York City.”

“H-how? Faeries are real? Really?” Sam was skeptical, but more than that, he was incredulous. 

“Of course.” Crowley looked at the three hunters. “Why is this so hard to believe?” 

“Um maybe because it sounds crazy.” Dean replied.

“There are many things you haven’t encountered before. Doesn’t make them less real.” Crowley countered.

Sam nudged Dean. “He does have a point.” he gave his brother a meaningful look. 

“Ok, so where is this Queen?” Dean asked.

“Silarial is the Queen of the Seelie Court. One of the entrances to her court is in New York City, central park to be exact.”

“Of course.” Sam deadpanned.

“Just one question.” Dean asked.

“Hmm?” 

“Why give a gun to a fairy?”

Crowley held up two fingers. “One, we have worked out an arrangement, just mention my name and what you want and she’ll give it to you. Two, iron is deadly to the Fair Folk.” 

Jo slapped her fist against her other palm. “So even if someone else figures out the colt still works, they won’t know where to get it, and since you’re the only one who knows where it really is, they can’t kill you to figure it out. I bet if the Queen ever tries to betray you, she won’t be able to use it against you.” 

“You don’t seem to be as dim as the wonder twins.”

Jo was undaunted. “I like to think its cuz’ of my hair.” 

“If you’re trying to trick us-” Sam’s voice became deadly.

“You’ll know where to find me.” Crowley cut in smoothly.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The three strode back to the Impala, their shoes crunched on the gravel as they hurried away from the stone home. None of them put their weapons away, even though they met no demons on the way.

“Do you think he was lying?” asked Sam.

“Like you heard, whatever happens, we know where to find him.” Dean replied. 

They packed up the trunk and began to climb in. Dean was looking thoughtful as he turned the ignition.

“Although I think that those Shadowhunters are more credible now.” 

Jo leaned forward from the backseat. “Wait I haven’t heard this.” 

Sam twisted in his seat and gave her a quick rundown. Jo’ eyes widened and she whistled. Dean pulled out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.

“Bobby. He probably knows something.” He moved his mouth away from the receiver. “They called them the Fair Folk right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Jo turned back to Sam, half listening to Dean greeting Bobby. “So faeries really are real?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Hang on.” Dean said, putting the phone on speaker. “Ok, say what?”

“So you Idjits wanna tangle with the Fair Folk?”

“What can I say; we just love to do things the hard way.” Dean replied.

“Hey Bobby.” Sam greeted. “We got a lead on the colt. Apparently it’s with the Seelie Faerie Queen.”

Bobby cursed. “Well that’s great. Do you have any idea what we’re dealing with?!” 

“Umm, Tinkerbelle?”

“Boy.” Bobby’s voice wiped the smile from Dean’s face. “The lore of the Folk is old, and none of it pretty.” 

“When is it ever?” Sam replied. “Lay it on us Bobby.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
Castiel followed the Shadowhunter children down the steps into the Silent City. His ears popped of their own accord; the body knew that it was entering a place that was pocketed away from the rest of the city. He was confused; the identity of Shadowhunters was a baffling mystery to him, and one he was determined to solve. A fluttering aura was permeating the atmosphere. It was strong in the Silent City, as if the inhabitants had made it that way, or maybe it was the other way around. 

Isabelle was in the lead, with Clary close behind her. Alec was flanking them, but Castiel was bringing up the rear. They moved haltingly, the light was dim and scattered. Castiel could see fine, but he knew the other three could not. They used their witchlight stones, the light looking familiar to his eyes. It was almost angelic, but he wasn’t sure how that could be possible. Their lights flared, casting stark shadows across the vast room, and gave a small fizz as they did so. 

He could see the large marble slabs; they seemed to give some sort of energy, as though they were alive somehow; it gave him an errant thought that it could be a spell of some sort, after all there were some power in the bones of saints…  
“Where are the cells?” Clary asked.

This snapped Castiel out of his reverie. He banished the stray question of why he was thinking of such specific spells, when he noticed the smell. Alec wrinkled his nose.

“On the level below us. Does anyone notice that smell?” Alec asked.

“I do.” Castiel replied. 

Their small group didn’t pause, and they entered a pavilion with a glittering canopy. It served as an entrance to an elaborate room. The room was high with a domed ceiling, and had circular benches that kept rising up, stairs in between them. There were slender poles that held witchlight at their tops, and they stood at every corner. Their light was doused however, and it made the children squint. The floor had a mosaic of an angel rising upwards. Castiel felt his heartbeat rise and heard his sudden intake of breath. 

“What is this place?” he looked around.

He noticed the ceiling had glimmering a light, giving the impression that one was looking at a swathed starry sky. Behind the highest row of benches stood a fixed holder; it was mounted on the wall and had the indentations of a…sword. It was no longer there, but it still emanated power. Castiel strode over to it, hearing his question being answered by Clary.

“They call this the Speaking Stars; it’s where the Silent Brothers hold meetings. I’ve been here before but-” she cut herself off with a grimace of disgust. “Seriously, what is that smell?”

Castiel didn’t answer, but he already identified the scent. It was the smell of rotting bodies. Something else was more pressing: they were killed by something dark. He sensed the same darkness when he first met the Shadowhunter children when he killed the creature they were fighting. He felt his wings shudder in irritation; he couldn’t understand why it brought out such a heady surge of violence in him, but he wanted to figure out the Shadowhunters more so. 

Castiel put his fingertips to the indentations of where a sword had been held, and-he gasped. A sudden jolt went through him, flooding his body. His wings shuddered, longing to get free as nostalgia overcame him. 

‘This power…’ 

A flash went through him, like a memory, although it was not his own. He saw, actually saw it. It came before his eyes like a film reel scene. An angel had once wielded the sword that hung on the wall. An angel that was full of righteous fire, and was impaling a creature similar to the one Castiel had recently encountered. Was it Michael? The angel’s grace felt familiar, and Castiel felt his own grace respond to the memory of power. 

‘Amazing. How did an angelic sword end up here of all places?’ 

Castiel turned to regard the children, the memory fading from his eyes as they powered the witchlight stones to burn brighter. They shouted; bodies were being illuminated. The one nearest to them was impaled on one of the light poles, as though it was some type of greeting to them. Blood was everywhere. Coming out of mouths, ears, and noses. It streaked the walls, dripped onto the ground, and poured and puddled underneath their feet. 

The Silent Brothers faces were contorted horribly, wearing obvious expressions of terror. Rigor had already set in, their hands stone-like and clutching their chests. The three took out their weapons, but Castiel bent down to examine the bodies. He ignored the disturbed cries of the Shadowhunters; he couldn't blame them. 

He searched intently at the face of the nearest Silent Brother. Strange markings were all over the body. They weren't exactly Enochian in script, but it was similar enough to confuse Castiel and he even felt his grace stutter in response. Almost as if it was recalling something. He felt his resolve hardening. The rest of the body was pale, and the stitches from the mouth were fluttering open. The smaller details were ones he hadn't paid much attention to after seeing the strange markings on the body. They weren't entirely dissimilar to the ones he saw on the Shadowhunter children, but seemed to speak a different form of the language. Castiel guessed that they served a different purpose.

‘The Silent Brothers seemed to be a different sect of Shadowhunters.’

“Why did this happen?” Alec asked. 

“Perhaps because those creatures attacked.” Castiel replied absently. 

“You mean demons?” Clary asked. 

Castiel frowned. “Those creatures are not demons.” 

“And you know this because you are an angel?” Isabelle asked somewhat testily.

“Yes.” Castiel deadpanned. “I am an angel of the Lord.” 

This was met with sounds of disbelief, anxiety, and irritation. Castiel sensed this might have something to do with the murdered men that surrounded them. He sighed; he didn’t think he was irritated. Castiel was reminded of Dean, when they first met and of the man’s expression when first locked eyes. Hard green eyes that held pain and determination, and loyalty…

“Umm guys we need to get to Jace.” Clary put in with quiet urgency.

Inspired, Castiel stood back from them and closed his eyes. Pulling in energy, his grace thrummed happily in the surroundings and he let it guide him. The witchlight seemed to glow in response and got brighter; the air seemed to vibrate. Castiel heard the gasps from the children and he wanted to pull in their energy, the energy inside them that made his grace flutter and want to mingle with…whatever it was. He frowned in momentary confusion. They did not have grace, and they seemed incomplete because of that. So by all rights, his grace shouldn’t be reacting in such a way; he never felt that way around human beings before. Castiel even felt saddened that he couldn’t interact with them in such a way. He pushed that emotion aside and concentrated. 

He felt his vessel’s body ripple. The muscles contracting in a way that was both painful and pleasurable. Castiel vaguely noted this as he felt his wings began to unfold. He smiled; it felt comfortable to unsheathe his wings, almost like stretching after a long nap. Shadows and light played against each other against the walls, and Castiel made sure that it was enough so that his wings could be seen without hurting the children. He let the shadows give depth to his wings, and he knew he couldn’t do much else. Revealing anymore would be careless…and harmful.   
He opened his eyes, and smiled. They were all staring at him. With wide eyes and rigid, awe-struck expressions. Something akin to fear and they were frozen. Castiel folded his wings back, and let them rest inside. The lights dimmed back and the shadows settled, tamed again. He gestured to the missing sword’s placeholder.

Alec’s eyes widened even more. “The sword-it’s gone.”

“By the Angel.” Isabelle breathed. 

Castiel tilted his head. That was an unusual expression. His eyes met with Clary’s. She seemed frozen, but somehow was in distracted thought, as if woken up from deep thought. Her eyes were green, but very different than Dean’s, but somehow, in a way, he was reminded of Dean. 

“Wait.” she startled. “If the sword is gone. I bet it was Valentine.”

Her words made the Lightwood siblings freeze, turning to look at Clary. 

“Valentine took it, and if he was here than- Jace, we have to get him!” She shouted.

Clary took off at a run, her steps echoing loudly. Isabelle and Alec shouted after her, and hurried to catch up. Castiel gave the room one final look before following them. His stride quickly matching pace with Clary’s. They raced to the lower level, pushing past the door. It slammed wide open. 

“Jace, are you in here?!” Clary shouted. 

“…Clary, is that you?” a voice croaked.

“Yeah.”

Castiel watched Clary pull out a slim object and it seemed to glow with determination. She studied the bars to Jace’s cell for a moment.

“Stand back.” 

She took the object in her hand and pressed it against the bars. She made a…drawing motion. It was a strange, wild gesture. Castiel could have sworn she just written a word. It said ‘Open.’ The bars groaned in protest before bending and snapping. It resisted briefly before breaking apart and the pieces flew in all directions. Castiel shifted to avoid being hit. He heard the faint click of metal unlocking and Clary rushed into the cell.

“Jace!”

Alec and Isabelle rushed into the room. They cried out, and circled by the blasted open cell. They only gave Castiel a brief looks before walking into the cell. Castiel tilted his head as he watched Alec and Clary take a side next to Jace and lifted him up. Isabelle had taken out her own slender object and was moving it across Jace’s skin. It was as though it was a pencil and Jace’s skin was mere paper.

A faint, tracing burn could be seen on Jace’s skin, and Castiel felt a minor thrill of power even from his distance. The marking looked similar to Enochian and Castiel could read it; angels never suffered from language barriers, but its resemblance to the angelic language was somewhat off putting. He didn’t know why; Castiel was getting entranced by the swirling lines that seemed comfortable and minor. Nothing that could match him, but…

“Let’s get outta here.” Isabelle said. “We have to inform the Clave.

“We’ve got you Jace.” Clary softly murmured. 

“Let’s go.” Alec grunted.

They hurried to leave behind the stench of bodies and the broken, dancing light.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“I’m coming with you.” 

Jo’s voice was firm. Dean glanced at Sam, and looked back at Jo.

“This is-”

“I know. It’ll be dangerous, but I can handle it.” she smiled.

“Figured you’d say that.”

Jo just grinned. She looked at both of them expectantly.

“So what’s the next step? Where do we find the Queen?” she asked. 

“Well, we could try hills, or anything with water.” Sam suggested. “Or leave something out for faeries to find.”

“Yay.” Dean tried to amend his reply. “Well, we could give them a dead baby.”

Sam made a face. “Dean.” 

“What?” he turned to look at Sam and Jo briefly before looking back at the road. “From what Bobby said, they might actually like that.” 

Sam appeared to agree. “Still.” 

Jo looked thoughtful. “What about those Shadowhunter people? Can we get in touch with them and see if they can hook us up?”

“I bet they can.” Sam mused, if somewhat unhappily.

Dean was also reluctant. “Yeah, but they didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon.” 

“We could try Cas.” Sam pointed out.

This seemed to cheer Dean up. “There is that.” he pulled out his cell phone.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Castiel watched Isabelle push open the entrance. He blinked; he was aware of the presence of many more Shadowhunters, even before stepping out into the night air. Clary inhaled sharply. Castiel set his feet onto the grass and peered at the faces staring back at them. More than a dozen men and women wearing black encircled them. They carried witchlight stones with them, letting the light blaze and leave nothing hidden. Castiel read their aggression, and wondered what it was that made them so defensive. 

“Wait!” a voice called out. “Those are my children!”

“Mom?” Isabelle called back. 

The crowd shifted and murmured. Isabelle’s mother looked ready to stride to their side; her eyes widened when she noticed Jace. She was pulled back by another woman with cold, hawk-like features, and Castiel was struck by the aura of deep pain that surrounded her.

“Explain this immediately!” the hawk woman shouted.

Jace groaned at the sound of her voice.

“Inquisitor…” Alec began. 

“What is he doing out of the Silent City?!” 

Clay stared at the Inquisitor incredulously. “You can’t be serious-”

Alec cut her off. “The Silent Brothers are dead.”

A ripple of sound and unease went through the crowd. The suspicious glares intensified. Castiel watched a young woman with silver hair stare intently at Clary before he turned his gaze back to Alec and the Inquisitor. Said Inquisitor look ready to barrage them with another round of questions.

“The Soul-Sword has been stolen as well.”

‘So that’s what they call it. ’ 

“By Valentine?” Isabelle’s mother, Maryse asked. 

The Inquisitor scoffed. “Of course. I imagine he was aided by his son.”

“That’s ridiculous!” shouted Clary. “Look at him!”

Jace’s breathing had become labored, and if he wasn’t being held up, he would have sunken to the ground already. His face was devoid of color, eyes glassy. He seemed to have a hard time focusing.

“Valentine must have heard that his son was inside the Silent City when he made to steal the sword.” The Inquisitor said. “He knew Jonathan would be there and planned accordingly.”

“Doubt it.” Jace rasped. “He doesn’t care about me, he just wanted the sword.” 

“Ridiculous, the sword can only perform one function: to determine a Shadowhunters’ honesty. Obviously Valentine would have no need of such an object.”

Castiel was about to tell her that the sword could do much more than that but was stopped by a fierce glare from Isabelle; his intent must have been plain. He had a strange wish not be scrutinized too deeply by such a large crowd. 

“It is a powerful object; he must have desired it simply because it was so. Maybe with the added satisfaction that he has taken something important from us. To say there is nothing we can keep from him.” Maryse pointed out, not unreasonably.

Jace wheezed again and Clary and the Lightwoods seemed to flinch at the sound.

“He needs help!”

This seemed to irritate the Inquisitor, as if Jace was merely inconvenient and just spoiling her plans out of spite. She shook her head irritably. She waved her hands dismissively.

“He’ll be fine.” Her gaze rested on the children and Castiel. “Furthermore, I assume you came all this way just to take him out of what you all consider an unjust punishment.” 

“No.” Alec spoke up, his voice firm. “We came because we got a distress call from the Silent City. No one else answered it. We were merely doing our jobs. What I would like to know is where everyone else was?”

Maryse answered. “We got a call ourselves. A fey child was murdered in Central Park. It was so similar to the death of the warlock boy that-”  
“That we assumed it was urgent. This has trap written all over it. Valentine murders a Downworlder and we are sent out, meanwhile he is actually elsewhere, stealing a prized possession! A trap. And we walked right into it.”

“That is a likely explanation.” Castiel put in.

The Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“Who are you?” 

“He is a friend of Magnus’s.” Alec replied hastily.

“Magnus Bane the warlock?” she didn’t seem to believe it.

“High Warlock of Brooklyn.” On anyone else the answer might have seemed smarmy, but Alec was earnest.

The Inquisitor shook her head, like she was trying to get rid of a fly. “Very well.”

She made a motion for the Shadowhunters to move. They glided past the small group and down into the steps of the Silent City. Only the silver haired woman turned back to look at them, and she locked eyes with Clary before she followed the others. Alec flipped out his cell phone and began typing on it hurriedly. The Inquisitor turned back to Jace, lip curled in distaste.

“What to do with you now? I will not have you returning to the Institute when your name hasn’t even by cleared yet.”

“He could stay with Clarissa. She is his sister.” Maryse suggested somewhat reluctantly. 

“…No…” Jace moaned. 

Clary looked at Jace with a wounded expression. She looked back at the two women angrily.

“He needs help, not an interrogation!” she shouted. 

Alec’s cell phone beeped unexpectedly, startling them all. He began playing with the phone, fingers flying over the keys. Both Maryse and Isabelle gave him disbelieving looks, seemingly wondering what he was doing at a time like this. He looked back at the women, surprised at their gaping scrutiny.

“I have a suggestion.” he spoke up. “Jace could be housed in the home of Magnus Bane.” 

Both the Inquisitor and Maryse raised their eyebrows.

“Of course.” was the acidic reply from the Inquisitor. 

“But that-”

“Can easily be arranged.” A new voice spoke up.

A tall thin man with spiked multicolored hair strode into the clearing. He wore an old fashioned looking coat, and tight black pants. His face was painted in an array of colors. His eyes were a green-gold and had the pupils of a cat. Castiel thought he was the strangest person he had ever seen, but that wasn’t what made a chill go through him. It was the strange aura that he had. It was the same as the creature that Castiel had fought. Well, not quite the same, but in a similar group. It was faint and covered. Like dust beneath a bed. It made his grace rise and his wings flurry in agitation. Castiel could sense the humanity next to it, and the buzz of energy inside that seemed to be a natural extension of the man’s overall being. There was no malice in his eyes, so Castiel forced himself to relax. 

Magnus seemed to sense the scrutiny, but he gave Castiel a brief wink in greeting and turned to the Inquisitor and Maryse. 

“How-?” Maryse asked.

Alec waved his phone somewhat sheepishly.

“I thought we could use his help, since he’d be a neutral party in this.” 

Magnus inclined his head. “I’d be happy to help. For a fee of course.” 

“Of course.” the Inquisitor echoed. 

“Discount rate.”

Maryse stepped forward to Magnus. She began to settle a price and the two set the terms of the contract. Castiel watched as Jace was hauled up and the girls and Alec made their way to Magnus’s side. Magnus greeted Jace cheerfully before giving a meaningful look to Alec and then a questioning one to Castiel. The Inquisitor gripped Maryse’s arm. The two strode off without another word. Just as it seemed everyone was about to leave, Castiel’s phone rang.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Dean.” 

“Hey. We got a lead on the colt.” 

“I may have something too.” 

Dean glanced at Sam. “Really?”

“A holy artifact has been stolen. A sword.”

“Ok, by who?”

“…I believe by a man named Valentine.”

“Wait, isn’t that the name of Clary’s father?” Sam asked.

Jo looked a little puzzled as she listened from the back seat. Dean gave a brief nod to Sam.

“And…you want to do something about it?”

“I’m not sure.” Cas seemed hesitant.

Jo leaned forward, speaking into the phone’s mouthpiece. “Are you still with the shadow people?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell them we need to know a way to get the Faerie Queen. That’s where the colt is.”

“I see. Something odd seems to have happened.”

Dean groaned. “Of course.”

“A faerie child was murdered tonight, apparently done by Valentine as well.” 

“You think this is connected?” Sam asked.

“I think we shouldn't discount anything.”

“Alright.” Dean nodded, though Cas wouldn't see. “We’ll be there sometime tomorrow.”

“I could-”

“No. I’ve been driving for hours, I’m tired. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Dean shut his phone. 

The three were silent for a few moments. Finally Jo spoke up.

“So. Shadowhunters huh?”

Sam nodded. “Yup.”

“So what are they, like supernatural police?”

Dean snorted. “Crazy huh?”

“How come we’ve never heard of them?”

“Beats me.” 

“Think something bigger is going on?” Sam asked, looking at the other two.

Dean sighed. “All I know right now is that I need coffee.” 

They lapsed into silence as the Impala sped down a dark road.  
________________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	3. Ignited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I’m not Cassandra Clare or Holly Black. Just unpublished fangirl hoping to entertain. I didn’t come up with Isabelle’s motto.  
> Warnings: Violence and Incest…ish. Which means at least part of this chapter is M. rated.  
>  This chapter features Silarial, a character that actually belongs to Holly Black author of the Tithe, Valiant, and Ironside books. She is a friend of Cassandra Clare, who seems to have used Silarial in the 2nd, 3rd, 4th 5th, and 6th TMI books as the Seelie Queen.   
> Word count: 24,099

Clary walked down the street to meet the others at Magnus Bane’s. Simon was walking beside her; he insisted on coming with her, so adamantly, that she didn’t feel right refusing him. She let her fingers brush his, feeling little light bolts prick her as she did. She could see him blush out of the corner of her eye and she let him entwine his fingers with hers. He playfully bumped her shoulders, and the two nudged each other until they got to Magnus’s complex.

Clary sighed. She was the one who suggested getting everyone together to discuss what was happening, but she was strangely reluctant. Simon looked at her, and he smiled reassuringly. When they got closer, a car was parked in front of the buildings. It was in the same space that the vampires had parked their motorcycles the night of the party when Clary had first met Magnus. Simon looked surprised. 

“Hang on, is that-?” Simon’s eyes widened.

It was the Impala. Its black doors opened and Clary could see Sam and Dean step out, along with a blond woman who didn’t look much older than herself. Clary waved to get their attention and strode over to meet them. 

“You’re back.”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t stay away I guess.”

“You guys must be huge fans.” Simon blurted out. “LARPing 24/7?”

The two men just stared at Simon in confusion while the woman snorted with laughter.

“Huh?”

“He means role-playing in real life, its hardcore cosplay.” Clary clarified before elbowing Simon. “Which they’re not.” 

“Into Carver Edlund huh?” the woman asked, voice filled with mirth. 

“How do you know that?” Dean asked her, as Sam feigned innocence.

“It shows?” Simon at least looked sheepish.

“Carver or well Chuck is a friend of theirs. He based his books on them.” she struck out at hand. “I’m Jo.” 

“Simon. And this is my girlfriend Clary.”

She blinked in surprise but said nothing. Clary smiled back at Jo. She was blonde and pretty with an honest face. She could almost be as slim as Isabelle, but dressed nothing like her. There was some sort of seriousness about her, but it hadn’t hardened her. Maybe all hunters just ended up looking like that. It reminded her a bit of Shadowhunters. 

“So you’re a hunter too?” 

Jo nodded. “Are Shadowhunters a boys only club?” 

Simon snorted. “No it’s a Shadowhunters club only.”

Clary gave him a disapproving look. Jo’s confusion cleared and she gave a small nod in understanding. Another voice shouted in greeting. It was Isabelle and Alec. The two walked over to the group. Isabelle gave a flirty smile to Dean, and a somewhat chillier one to Jo. Alec looked puzzled and somewhat annoyed at the crowd. Another round of introductions went around.

“You brought the mundane?” he asked Clary, gesturing at Simon.

“I feel so welcomed.” Simon replied. 

It was silent briefly, with the group staring at one another. Isabelle seemed to be sizing Jo up and the blonde woman calmly stared back. Alec was stealing glances between everyone, looking wary. Simon looked worriedly between the two women and the men that flanked her. Clary resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well whatever.” said Dean. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

Spell broken, Clary led the way to Magnus’s apartment. She moved aside to let Alec open the door, looking very discreet when he flashed the silvered key. It barely went into the lock when the door was pulled wide open. Clary was used to seeing Magnus, but on fresh eyes, he was a sight to see. 

His jet black hair was spiked, braided, and dyed in every color imaginable. His ears glimmered with silver and gold hoops. Rings shimmered on slim fingers, and matched the color of some of his bracelets. His purple eye shadow was thick and brought out the gold-green of his eyes. He had kohl lines that were bold, and competed with slightly rouged lips. He wore a silver mesh shirt that exposed his navel-less midriff, and he wore black leather trousers that were tightened by a sparkling flamingo pink belt. Over that he wore a kimono-esque robe that was red, gold, and green. It depicted battling dragons. 

Clary turned to see the shocked expressions on the faces of the three hunters. She wasn’t surprised. It almost made her smile. She began to introduce him. 

“This is-”

“The artist formally known as Prince?” suggested Dean in a strangled voice. Clary realized he was trying not to laugh.

“Oh I’m much more fabulous.” Magnus countered. He turned to Clary. “I can introduce myself.” He smiled at the hunters. “I am Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.” 

He led them imperiously into the apartment. In the high space, she heard Sam ask something.

“Are all warlocks like that?”

Alec answered, seemingly searching for a response. “Magnus is Magnus.”

“Just be thankful he’s not wearing tassels. Or a pompadour.” Simon mumbled. 

The loft space looked cleaner than usual, the sheets and curtains still contrasted with each other. Without a large party the place looked smaller than usual, like glimpsing a nightclub before it opened. The only thing that made any noise was a television that flickered. The only odd thing about that was that it was obviously unplugged. Odder still were the people who were watching it. It was Jace and Cas. Both were next to one another on the couch. Clary had the sudden urge to sketch them. They were a study in contrasts. Jace, full of white gold, was sprawled on the sofa like a wounded lion. Cas was sitting ramrod straight, still wearing his trench coat. He resembled a blackbird sentry. Both stared unmovingly at the TV. 

“The zombie marathon is already over.” Jace called. “You didn’t give us anything to eat, which is disappointing, because splattered guts make me hungry.”

At his voice, Clary’s insides flip flopped, her face flamed tortuously, and she worried at the barely concealed anguish in his voice. His back was to them all, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, and it was as easy to read as his darkened tone of voice. 

“Actually, an omelet can fix that right up.” Dean answered.

Jace jumped, and a small part of Clary was glad that his grimness had been broken. Jace swiveled around to regard them. His gold eyes widened with unguarded surprise, taking in people who just walked in. Clary felt her heart speed up when his gaze rested on her, and didn’t slow down even when his expression became closed. She realized that she was still holding hands with Simon. Jace turned back to Dean.

“Just can’t stay away can you?”

Dean half shrugged. “Guess not.”

“You brought a bunch of mundanes with you?” Jace asked of no one in particular. 

Said mundanes looked at him in irritation. He seemed to realize this, but didn’t seem particularly sorry, even when he shrugged at the silence that greeted him. Simon glanced at the television, and began to speak.

“What are you watching?”

“What not to Wear.” Cas spoke up, gravel voice filled with confusion. “I don’t understand why this woman wants to throw away strangers’ clothes.” 

“No one does.” Simon answered.

Jace gestured to something on the screen. “You have to admit, anyone who wears high-waist khaki pants should be shot.”  
“What I don’t understand is why we’re talking about this.” Magnus replied.

“Or why Cas is here.” Dean said, mostly to himself.

“He is here because I invited him to stay after last night.” Magnus called. He turned his cat eyes to Jace. “We can debate high fashion later.”

Isabelle yanked both Jace and Cas off the sofa. “Clary wanted us to get to together, so let’s do it.” 

With a wave of his hand, Magnus moved the sofa and replaced the television with a table and chairs. He scooted them together, and then conjured up steaming cups of coffee. Dean looked surprised, but appreciative and Jo was already finding a seat.

“Wish witches did something this helpful.” Sam said.

“Aren’t witches different from warlocks? Pretty sure.” Simon asked.

“Witches don’t exist.” Alec corrected. 

None of them were going to press the point. They all sat down, and looked at one another. It was a little awkward, but a few people sipped their coffee in the silence.

“So…” Dean ventured. “Cas told us that a faerie got killed and a sword got stolen.”

Jace’s eyes darkened, and he nodded grimly. “Valentine.”

“Who?” Jo asked.

“Pretty much the Darth Vader of the Shadowhunters.” Simon supplied. 

Jace grimaced. “Valentine.” He sounded as if his mouth was full of poison. “What a guy.” 

Alec seemed perturbed by Jace’s expression and continued in place of him. “We think he is the one who murdered the faerie boy in Central Park.”

Jo seemed as though she wanted to say something, but she kept quiet and waited for Alec to finish.

“Its’ body was drained of blood and left in the middle of a jogging path. Its death was the same as a warlock boy who died just days before.” 

“Why?” Sam asked. “What, is he working some kind of spell?” 

Magnus nodded, walking over to his bookshelf. “Clever little mundane.” He flipped through the pages of a book and finding the one he was looking for, strode back and thumped it onto the table. “There. The Infernal Conversion Ritual.” 

Everyone leaned forward, some nearly knocked heads together. The page showed an illustration of a sword, its hilt in the shape of outstretched wings. Cas sucked in a breath. He looked like he was reading the text, which was surprising to Clary because it was a scrawling script that she knew was the warlock language. 

“That is troubling.” his voice very grave. 

“What?” someone asked.

“The Ritual is very specific.” Magnus explained. “It requires the blood of four Downworlder children. One for each different race. The blade has to be heated and then soaked in blood, then cooled, and the process repeated. This is to change the sword’s allegiance from angelic to demonic in nature.” 

“And he is already halfway through.” Clary whispered in horror. “All he needs now is the blood of a vampire and a werewolf.”

“Is there any way to know who he’ll target?” Sam asked. “Anyone he’d have a grudge against?”

Alec shrugged. “It seems to be at random. The warlock was someone he paid for, and faeries are easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for.” He frowned. “Basically anyone under eighteen is in danger.”

“Nice.” Dean replied. “How’d he even get his hands on this thing?”

Alec was about to reply, but his phone suddenly rang. He stood up to answer it. He spoke softly as Isabelle answered Dean’s question. 

“We think he also killed the faerie child as a way to distract everyone while he grabbed the sword. When we went in to bust out Jace, it was already gone.” 

“Probably also helped by the fact that someone was with him when he did it. Bastard practically waved it in my face in glee. As good as a-”

“Wait what?!” Clary yelled. 

Alec looked back, startled. She gave him an apologetic smile, and he turned back to his conversation. Everyone else however, was staring at Jace. Isabelle in particular was giving him a fierce scolding glare. She looked like a rabid she-bear.

“Jace.” she growled. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

“What’d they look like?” Clary asked.

Jace regarded each angry girl; he seemed to be holding back a smile at that, but sobered when he answered each one. “Because you didn’t ask.” His eyes turned inward, as if seeing something no one else could see or go. “As for what that person looked like, I honestly couldn’t say. Only one thing stood out, and it seems a little…” he shook himself.

“Their eyes. They were jet black.” 

Clary watched Sam, Dean, Jo, and Cas stiffen and fix Jace with serious expressions. Sam and Dean exchanged looks, and Jo cricked her neck in agitation. Cas managed to look even grimmer than before. Clary felt a sudden insight that they knew something that everyone else did not. Even Jace looked abashed by the scrutiny. Clary could see Simon rub his arms, as if keeping a chill away. 

“Can you see if you can describe the person? Anything at all-” Sam hurriedly asked. 

As Jace answered, Jo finally spoke up and her question seemed to be open for anyone to answer.

“Will the faerie murder make it difficult to contact the other faeries?”

Isabelle blinked in surprise. “Actually, we’ll have to talk to them to keep the peace. That’s what mom said anyway.” 

Jo pressed on. “I ask because I was hoping that you guys would know a way into Faerieland.” she clarified when she saw Isabelle’s look. “It’s for a job. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Before Isabelle could respond, Alec came back and sat down. 

“That was mom. She just got word from the Seelie Queen. She wants to talk to us about the murder. Mom said she was pretty adamant about it.” 

“Oh well isn’t this just your lucky day.” Isabelle spoke dryly to Jo.

Alec looked between them. “Hmm? What’d I miss?” 

“Just idiocy.” Magnus assured him with a wave of his hand.

“These guys want to go into Faerieland.” Isabelle put an ironic singsong voice on the word ’Faerieland’. 

Alec looked at Jo, his expression was not unfriendly. “It isn’t a very good idea. Hunters or not, the fey don’t look kindly on mortals.”

Jo gave him a look. “How about you guys? You’re like cops right? Last time I checked, no one likes cops.” 

Isabelle looked considering. “Well, we could ask…”

“Well, as I was trying to tell you before I was interrupted.” he gave the girls a reproving glare. “Mom said that the Seelie Queen wanted to speak to us. Us in particular.”

“I’ll go.” Clary spoke up, hearing their conversation.

“No!” Jace shouted. “I’m Valentine’s son. I imagine that’s what got her interest.” he glowered.

“But.” Clary started. “Your under house arrest, you can’t go. So I’ll take your place. I’m Valentine’s daughter, so that’s just what the Queen will have to settle for.” 

Jace looked ready to protest, his face turning pale with anger. Alec held up his hands peaceably, and Isabelle gave him a knowing look. 

“It wouldn’t be a good idea to refuse.” she told Jace. “We’ll be there to look after her.” 

“No.” Jace’s voice was stretched tight. “You will not take my sister to the Seelie Court without me. That is final.” 

“We can take care of her.” Alec enunciated carefully. 

He seemed to be having a battle of wills with Jace just by his eyes alone. Gold and blue clashed violently. 

Isabelle turned to Jo and the other hunters. “If you absolutely insist on doing this, we can’t guarantee your safety.” 

“That’s ok, but thank you.” Sam smiled. “We’ll be careful.”

“You-” Dean looked at Sam, about to say more but Jo cut him off.

“Since Dean insists on going, Sam and I aren’t gonna let him go into a place like that by himself. I doubt Cas will either.”  
Cas nodded once. “Jo is right. If you cannot guarantee their safety, then I will.” 

"What?!” Jace looked at them with undisguised shock. “Stupid mundanes, do you have any idea what you’re doing?!” Before they could make any protest, Jace continued. “No, of course you don’t. The Fair Folk have no love for mortals, other than stringing them up for their own up amusements. Mortality is just a joke to them, and they love to play games. They could enchant you to dance till you die, pull out your eyes just to get a better look at what color they are, or give you something so sweet to drink that you’ll drink until you get sick, and you’ll be more than happy to drink your own sick just to keep them smiling.” He looked at them with disgust. “And you wanna go inside for a chat.”

Clary looked at him in horror. “Christ, Jace-”

Surprisingly it was Simon who spoke next. “Well, they are hunters, I’m sure they know what they’re doing. Besides, when we went to the hotel, we did okay-”

Jace cut him off. “Okay?!” he looked even more disgusted. “If by okay then you mean we barely made it out alive-”

Dean held up his hand. Clary noted the tenseness in his frame. Jace swore, and cut off his diatribe.

“Sounds like Alistair takin’ a nap.” Dean muttered. Clary wasn’t sure if anyone other than herself and Sam heard him. 

Dean looked up to regard them all. Clary shivered; his eyes reminded her of Renwick’s. They were looking in on something deep, dirty, and horrifying. She was briefly reminded of Jace in their bleakness, but it was more than that. He was looking at himself and remembering, living something over again. It was never-ending blackness, and something more twisted than despair. It was horrible, but it seemed to hypnotize everyone. She felt herself go pale. He opened his mouth, and Clary was afraid of whatever terrible thing was going to come out of it. He started speaking.

“Believe me when I say this: I’ve been to worse places. Where I’ve gone makes Faerieland look like another theme park from Disney World. I’ve seen and done-”

He said ‘done’ as though he was spitting out burning metal.

“-Things that’ll make you piss out of your ears.”

Clary believed him. She couldn’t bring herself to break the silence, especially since Sam was looking at his brother with a deeply saddened expression, and Cas and Jo seemed to have similar expressions, full of grief. It didn’t matter-and it didn’t matter that no one said anything because Dean started speaking again. 

“So I’d appreciated if you didn’t talk down to me. Especially since nobody here seems to have a drivers’ license in between em’.”

His voice got lighter at that, but it was still serious even if the horrible blackness had vanished back to whatever place it had been. It still had the same effect of being taken seriously. His three companions picked up on that, and relaxed. They regarded the Shadowhunters, and Jo stood straighter.

“I’m with him.” she nodded her head at Dean. “About this mundane bullshit. Say what you want about us, but we’ve got experience and we won’t put up with any crap.”

She looked right at Jace and the Lightwoods. Sitting straight she suddenly looked defiant and calm. Clary didn’t know how she managed both, but Jo wasn’t afraid. There was something sad and serious in her face, but there was also fierceness. Clary felt a pang in chest. A kind of homesickness, like an unbidden memory. It took her a moment for her to realize that Jo looked a bit like Clary’s mother, Jocelyn with that expression. It made Clary wonder if Jo resembled her own mother and that’s where she got such a powerful expression. 

This was followed by a shocked silence. Alec looked strangely wounded, and his sister’s eyes were surprised and maybe something else. Simon was looking at the hunters with something akin to surprised awe, particularly in Jo’s direction. It was tense, but a strange tenseness. It came not from life threatening creatures, or getting arrested, but having a serious social awkwardness that wouldn’t be easily dismissed. This was unusual for both parties. No one spoke. Magnus looked in between Jace and Alec, wearing an inscrutable expression. He cleared his throat.

“I have a suggestion.” He continued when it was clear no one was going to speak. He turned to Alec and Isabelle. “When your mother made that contract with me, I made a loophole. As long as Jace is under supervision with other Shadowhunters, he can go wherever he pleases. Especially since I’ll know where he is. All he has to do is trade places with someone to take his place here.”

“I’ll do it.” Alec volunteered, and then turned pink at his sister’s stare. “Jace is right; the Queen probably does want to talk to him more than me.” 

Isabelle nodded in agreement, but her smile suggested a separate motive. “True.” she surveyed the room. “Ok, so let’s see who’s going…just raise your hands or something.” She counted. “Alright that’s, Sam, Dean, Jo, Cas, Clary, Jace, Me, and…Simon?”

Clary tried not to show her surprise; after that little discussion, she didn’t feel right telling him not to come along. He caught her eyes and smiled reassuringly. It didn’t decrease the fluttering in her stomach. She’d worry no matter what, and she wanted to avoid Jace’s waspish stare. Isabelle blinked. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of people. Alec, call up Mom and tell her we accept the Queen’s offer.” she watched Alec stand up and start dialing. “Now, I can get us into the entrance to the Seelie Court, but it only works at night. So that means we have quite a while to wait.” 

Sam exhaled deeply. “Well, if it’s alright with Magnus, we’d like to stay here till’ then. In fact, it looks like we might be seeing more of each other. Our job brought us back into town, chasing a lead and it looks like our case has somehow gotten tangled up with whatever is going on with you guys. So…can we do it? Can we work together if we have to?” Sam asked. 

“Of course.” Alec replied. “Sorry about earlier.” he colored with embarrassment. 

Sam shrugged. “We’re cool.” 

This seemed to be the signal for relaxing and an unofficial way of dismissing their meeting. Chairs scraped, as people stood up and moved around. Only Cas remained sitting and he looked up at Magnus. 

“I am eager to hear more about this Soul-Sword.” 

Magnus flashed a shiny smile. “Certainly.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
They passed the hours by.

Dean, Sam, and Jo grabbed supplies from their trunk. Dean busied himself by cleaning the weapons. Jace feigned disinterest, but his gaze kept wandering and settling on Clary. Clary and Simon watched wide-eyed for a few minutes before Simon shyly asked Jo if she wanted to learn how to play a dice game. Sam busied himself looking at Magnus’s library collection, and trying to translate what he could. Magnus was speaking to Alec and Cas, both blue eyed boys listening in obvious interest. Isabelle played with her hair for a bit before wandering over to Dean to compare weapons.

The time passed quicker than expected.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The Impala changed lanes to park into an empty space. They had gotten as close to Central Park as they could. As soon as Dean parked, everyone hurried to get out; it was cramped in the backseat. Dean was adamant about driving, since he didn’t want his baby left alone for too long in such a big city. 

Moonlight gleamed on the black metal as Dean and Sam began to pull weapons out of the hidden compartment. Jace, Isabelle, and Simon peered curiously inside when the two began gathering a few items together. Jo plucked out a messenger bag and slung it around her shoulder. Simon gaped at her. Dean caught their eyes and smiled.

“You can never be too careful.”

Jace shrugged amiably. “True.”

“Follow me.” Isabelle said.

She strode along a path with ease, the route was obviously familiar to her. With her in the lead, she began to explain what she was calling ’rules’.

“First, don’t eat or drink anything they offer you. Faerie food does weird things to people. Second, don’t talk to anyone who isn’t the Queen, or the person who will be escorting us to her. It is very easy to get enchanted. Okay, Faeries can’t lie, but they can engage in some creative truth telling.”

“You sure know a lot.” Simon replied.

Surprisingly, Isabelle blushed but answered primly. “Of course I do. It’s my job.”

They came to a pond, a few benches were at the water’s edge, but it was the pavilion that was on the other side and nearly resting in the water is what Isabelle seemed to be aiming at. She waded into the water; her skirt billowed out around her. It revealed her legs, flesh pale as moonstone except for the swirling black lines painted on them. Cas’s eyes widened; he looked as if he was reading them. Clary watched him do it as he followed everyone in, his trench coat pulling him into the water.   
Simon struggled to get a decent footing, shoes squelching. Jo offered her arm to steady him and he took it gratefully. Clary felt an uncomfortable squirm of jealousy; Jo could rival Isabelle in looks, and Clary assumed she probably could fight as well. 

‘This is why I don’t have female friends. I really should calm down.’

Clary slipped in the mud, nearly toppling over herself. She was glad she didn’t wear anything as nice as Isabelle had. Jace was quickly by her side, offering a Marked arm. 

“No thanks.” she righted herself as quickly as she could, face flushing.

Both of them caught Simon’s pleased look when she refused and Jace scowled. Feeling irritated at both, Clary moved away and hastily followed Isabelle. Dean and Sam followed. Dean swore loudly, and Jo and Sam laughed. 

Dean shot his brother a dirty look. “Easy for you sasquatch.”

Isabelle gathered them all together, her arms outstretched.

“We have to stick together.” She looked carefully at them all. “And work together. Seelie Court is dangerous.” She fixed Clary with a reproachful look. “So control your boys. Don’t give me that look. You need to show a bit of your natural authority. Guys always need to be kept on a tight leash.”

Jo smiled. “Amen.” 

“Sexist.” Dean countered.

“I agree.” Jace replied. “My manly sensibilities are offended.”

“Shut up.” Clary grinned.

“Yes ma’am.”

The mood was a bit better, and Isabelle pointed to the moon. It hung like pearl in the sky, looming impossibly huge. 

“Now watch how I do it.” 

She moved forward. Sam stared carefully before looking back up at the moon; it illuminated his confusion perfectly.

“Wait, the moon always gets farther the closer you get to it.” 

Isabelle smiled. “That’s a part of the magic.”

She went into the moon’s reflection that rested on the water. Moonlight shone down on her, and the water’s surface. It lit her up, her hair turned silver, lighting each strand and her eyes even brighter, making them look like a pair of pearls. The water rippled around her, as if the bright orb in the sky was riling it up. Steam began to spiral up and Isabelle’s skin gleamed with a moonshine fever. The swirling lines on her skin burned. She looked like some arcane goddess. Then-

She was gone, swallowed up. Jace followed. His golden white hair looked as though it were incased in ice and he winked one gold eye before sinking downwards. Clary waded quickly after, her hair shining like a brand of fire. Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Simon and Jo paddled forward. They looked like two opposing chess pieces when the lunar light hit them. Their grip tightened on each other as they both went down. Cas seemed to be weighed down by his clothes soaking the water. When he entered the circle, he looked every bit as lovely as Isabelle did, and his blue eyes blazed impossibly. He dunked under the water as if pushed, and he didn’t even blink when he disappeared. Sam and Dean moved, and stepped into the circle. The water was still freezing, but the air itself seemed to ripple. Dean drew a shaky breath and smiled at Sam.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They held their breath, and suddenly it was as if a very large hand had shoved their heads under the water. It was pushing them until it was no longer a push, and they were falling. 

They were back on solid ground. Dean toppled onto Sam and opened his eyes. They were underground. Surrounded by the rest of the group, it was the only reason the two allowed themselves to relax. Jo shot them a small smile as she rummaged through her bag, trying to salvage her things. Cas stood in between her and Isabelle. Water ran down him in rivets, getting caught in this coat and soaking him. Isabelle was shaking the water out of her hair. Simon blinked and shivered, he bent down searching the floor for his fallen glasses. Clary began to help him, and the two scrunched together as Jace stood beside them, wringing water from his shirt. 

There was no faerie waiting for them, and the air was freezing. Strands of white hair-like string were prickling along the dark ceiling. Simon found his glasses and he looked up, squinting and adjusting them.

“Roots.” he pointed upward. “We’re underground.”

“Very astute of you.” Jace droned. His hair was pressed into a cap.

Dean looked around. “Ok, where’s the escort?”

The eight of them stood pressed together. It was at the start of a tunnel, which stretched on for quite a while it seemed. It was dark, and the shivering was like a vibration, since everyone had press themselves together and each person was shaking. Waiting was becoming difficult. 

“Whooo.” Isabelle breathed. “Wasn’t that a ride?”

“No.” Cas replied. “A ride is a-”

“Not really.” Jace interrupted. “Let’s not do that again.”

As soon as Jace said that, the outline of a figure was moving toward them. Isabelle recognized it, and she yelled cheerfully.

“Meliorn! Over here!” She waved her arms widely. 

When the faerie got closer, a scowl could be seen. He had long hair that went down to his waist, fine like long summer grass and dark as mahogany wood. Course bark was covering a white tunic; it was armor and it glimmered in different colors when he moved. He nodded in greeting to Isabelle. She took that as a cue and embraced him. 

“So that’s how she knows so much about faeries.” Dean whispered.

“Dean.” Sam gave him a stern look. 

Meliorn gazed at all the faces, looking as though he was measuring something. He first looked at the Shadowhunters and his gaze settled on Simon. The boy seemed to shrink back from the cool, alien gaze. He tried to push back his dark hair. 

“A mundane?” 

Clary bristled at Meliorn’s tone. He would have been perfectly willing to leave Simon there.

“I had no such orders to bring you with me.” He turned to regard the other four. “Nor you. I was not told of your coming.”

“No.” Sam replied. “But your Lady will want to see us.”

Meliorn looked unamused. “Will she? My Lady is fickle, and her whims shift faster than the seasons.”

Sam was undaunted. “Then this will be a very slight interruption. She might even get some amusement out of it.”

“Not many mortals are willing to offer themselves up as toys.” it was said with an air of mild clinical interest.

“Simon isn’t a toy.” Clary spoke up suddenly. “Neither are they.”

Jace pointed to Simon. “He is under our protection. We owe him a debt, one of life-blood.” 

Simon looked back at Jace in surprise. His looked shifted into something thoughtful, as if reevaluating something. 

“Very well.” Meliorn turned to the other four. “Protection isn’t guaranteed for your kin. You will be an added delight to the revels.”

Cas stepped forward, suddenly looking fierce. “They have protection. Mine.” 

Meliorn’s brows furrowed in confusion. “You are neither mundane, nor Nephilim.” 

Cas had a momentary look of confusion before it was replaced with something akin to anger. “Correct.” 

Dean turned to look at Cas, surprised to seeing such an unexpected reaction on Cas’s face. “So, we’re not your average mundanes.” Dean told Meliorn. “Take us to see your Queen.”

Meliorn gave them another sweeping look before leading them forward without another word. Isabelle hurried to catch up to him, bubbly voice echoing as they turned into a larger hallway. The underground tunnel widened and echoes bounced against each other like pebbles. Simon was sandwiched between Clary and Jo, his questions to the female hunter could be heard by Sam and Dean, who were behind them. Jace was being buffeted between the groups, keeping his eyes trained on Clary. 

“He’s protective.” Dean whispered to Sam.

“Yeah. Wonder who that reminds me of…?” Sam whispered back, rolling his eyes.

Cas brought up the rear, shoes nipping the brothers’ heels. Isabelle suddenly laughed out loud, and when she spoke next, her voice was a crystal bell. 

“Because that’s my motto: Nothing less than seven inches!” 

Dean leaned into Sam again, this time by accident. When he straightened up, Sam could see he was shaking with suppressed laughter. He opened his mouth several times, trying to make a joke, but every time he just collapsed into silent laughter. His voice was congested with amusement. 

“It’s good you know that about yourself!” he finally called.

She looked back at him, surprised before giving him a sly grin.

“Isn’t it? My options are wider that way!” she called back.

Sam shook his head. “Real mature.” 

Dean was about to reply.

“No.”

This didn’t stop Dean, he looked back at Sam, eyes full of mirth. “You aren’t going to tell me not to confuse reality with porn?” 

Sam elbowed him sharply, finally smiling at Dean’s loud exclamation of pain. “No.” 

Meliorn led them down a wide corner and the sound of music wafted up, along with the scents of summer. They entered a large room, so vast that it seemed to be the outdoors. Faeries were dancing in the center of what served to be a ballroom. They swayed and swirled to a heady tune. The notes went high and held, wavering until they suddenly plunged and became frantic. It was a melody’s equivalent of a roller coaster. It was jarring and invasive at first, but when the ears adjusted it was strangely pleasant. 

Dean watched as Clary looked at the faeries with wide eyes. She seemed dazed, her feet picking up of their own accord, almost imitating a ballet step. Isabelle took one look at all the dancing fey and made a grab for Simon. She stumbled back from Meliorn, not as graceful in her heels. She motioned for Jace and he went to her. They were the only ones in motion. A dancing fey with lilac skin and membranous wings brushed past Sam. He craned his neck to see the rest of her, almost against his will. They were not beautiful, they didn’t look human enough to pass for beauty, at least to mortal eyes-but they were graceful and timeless. Eyes of all shapes, sizes, and colors looked on the group with undisguised fascination. A short furred man pointed a gnarled finger at them, and a woman with scales laughed.

Jace hurriedly pushed Jo, his hands trying to untangle themselves from her messenger bag. A faerie with some kind of tail had gotten close to her and small darting sprites were tugging at her hair. Cas suddenly grabbed for Clary and she blinked rapidly, as if water had splashed into her face. She stared at the mingling creatures with something like awestruck horror. She made a frantic gimme motion to Sam, who was studying a piece of fruit. She reached up on her tiptoes, practically pulling herself up to reach his face. She whispered something to him. Sam looked back at what he was holding. It could have been a peach, or an apple but the color was a pale white, its dark pit visible beneath the skin. He threw the fruit, and a troll creature caught it, giving Sam a wicked grin as he bit into the fruit, and raised it in thanks. 

Isabelle yanked off Cas’s tie and roped it around Simon’s eyes. He made a noise of protest and tried to remove the blind, but Isabelle slapped his hands away. Cas’s hands shot forward, gripping Dean’s shoulders in a vice-like clamp. His hand seemed to burn through the fabric, touching the welt on Dean’s arm. Dean gasped at the sudden sensation. He turned to Cas.

“What’s your problem?” His voice as slurred as if he drank an entire bottle of whiskey.

Cas gripped his arm tighter, and clarity snapped back like a rubber band. Dean sharply took a step back, bumping into Cas. He was looking at the fey with something like shock. It was like stepping into a dark room, with soft comfortable looking shadows that blunted perception, before the light switched on, giving sharp brightness that didn’t let anything escape. Suddenly said room revealed something horrifying inside of it. 

The fey had crazed looking faces, fingers with too many or too little joints. They moved as if gravity couldn’t touch them; their otherworldliness so prominent that it became invasive. Loveliness that had warped and Dean so strongly reminded of demons that he began to draw his gun. He flinched when Sam’s hand came down on it. He looked back into Sam’s face. It was bleached of color, and he looked just as Dean felt.

“No, let’s just go.”

“Yes.”

Cas’s graveled voice was strained with anger. Dean turned in surprise. He hadn’t heard him sound like unless there was something big. He was actually shaking with anger and his eyes were wide with aggression. For the angel to be showing this extreme of emotion, meant something was going on. He was staring at the gathering of fey with mistrust and something else. Not quite rage but sharper than disgust, and tenser than fear. Almost instinctual. For the first time in a long time, Dean was nervous of Cas.

“C’mon.” Jace suddenly rasped.

“I don’t understand.” Cas suddenly spoke in frustration. He seemed to have said it to himself.

Sam and Dean exchanged worried looks as they followed Jace and the rest of the group. They stumbled along, more raggedly then when they first entered. Meliorn remained impassive as they moved down into another chamber. This one had a curtain draped in the entryway; it was made from some kind of leaves, looking as soft as cotton. Something glittered on it, and looking close it was water droplets woven so tightly into the plant that they maintained their shape.

“Wait here for a moment.” Meliorn intoned.

He pulled back the curtain and slipped inside. He returned a few minutes later.

“You may enter.”

He drew the curtain back all the way, letting them enter. The glassy water drops brushed against Clary’s face. Once they were all inside, Meliorn followed them in; he silently glided into a corner, his face stiff and impassive, and a weapon was now at his waist. 

There in the center of the room, sat the Faerie Queen. There was a distinct difference between her and her subjects. She was beautiful. Unlike the rest of the fey, who made beauty and hideousness blur together into some kind of unearthly confusion, she was undoubtedly beautiful. She was almost painful to look at. Her hair was copper red, true copper red; the color of dried blood. It was long and lavish, pinned up with a spray of flowers and shells. Her eyes were a blue that rivaled Cas’s, but were much paler, like preserved ice. She looked completely human, statuesque in height and curved generously. With her pale smooth skin, she looked like an artists’ statue come to life. She was painful to look at.

She smiled at them all, and it was the loveliest smile that had existed. It was one that knew many things, enigmatic and proud. Her glance was casual, but she had the air of a creature ready to pounce onto something juicy, all the while keeping that smile on her face. 

Dean shivered. She was Alistair in a woman’s body. She could do cruel things to you, make you do cruel things, and no matter what happened, you still wanted to see that smile. He turned his gaze away from her. She was reclining on a pile of cushions, surrounded by courtiers, and they looked on with undisguised fascination. It looked like a gypsies’ cavern, complete with fairy tale monsters. The Queen gazed at them all, and she made a few slender motions with delicately hennaed hands. A small fey covered entirely with fur quickly produced a tray with several goblets on it. 

“Welcome to my court.” 

Jace stepped forward, and his back stood at attention. His gold eyes were politely appraising. He was the group’s spokesperson now. 

“We thank you for your generousness, My Lady.”

His tone was smooth and soft. He dropped all sarcasm, and he let his gaze transform into a polite and conversational mask. Clary was reminded of Valentine, albeit gentler and devoid of pride. Sam looked on in interest.

“Sit down.” her plump lips quirked upward. “We’ll carry on with civility.”

Jace led them down onto the softened grass, which released a sweet scent when they sat down. It mingled with the hazy, heady summertime air. Even though it was fall elsewhere, it would be eternally warm here, frozen forever to be summer. The goblets were passed out to them. Sam gave Dean a brief warning look before letting his own cup rest in his lap. Cas stared at the smooth rim as it might come alive and bite him. When Clary and Jo sat down, the sprites alighted to them, trying to pluck strands of their hair. Clary looked at her cup; flower petals were floating on the surface of the liquid. Clary picked one of the petals and studied it. It was pink but had reddened from the stain of the drink. Simon shot her a warning look as she crushed the petal between her fingers, releasing its scent and staining her skin. The drink sloshed the rim. She couldn’t tell what color it was from the inside of the cup, and she had a sudden flash of memory; her mother once talked to her about ‘stranger danger’ and safe parties. The conversation had been so long ago that she had nearly forgotten it, but now as it came unbidden she was abruptly paralyzed by sadness.

Jo made a tiny mewl of alarm. Sprites had crawled inside her bag, making it move as if alive. Clary set down her cup and began to help, and they plunged their hands inside feeling for the tiny creatures. A nip of pain made Clary wince as one of them bit her finger. She grabbed little thing, enclosing her hand around it like a cage. She pulled one out. Jo was also cradling one; she uncupped her hands and inspected it. The sprites chittered before fluttering underneath tasseled cushions. Jo looked inside her bag for more as Clary sucked away the blood from her bitten finger.

“Forgive me for rambling my lady.” Jace began. “The Fair Folk are indeed fair. I’m ashamed to admit that your beauty has taken me by surprise. But since you cannot tell untruths, I shall do the same.”

‘So that’s how he does it.’ Sam thought, mentally taking note.

The Queen undulated, the muscles in her legs flexed beneath her elaborate dress. She didn’t bother to adjust it, letting her legs dangle with a deceiving carelessness. She looked as though she planned on devouring Jace. 

“As pretty with words as you are in face and you are as charming as the name you bear. It seems the Clave knows my weakness; how clever they are to send you.”

“Nothing clever about it My Lady. I simply go where I am sent.”

The Queen shrugged elegantly. “Very well. Some say modesty is its own reward.” She regarded the other four. “Meliorn tells me that you claim that you are no ordinary mundanes, and I must agree.”

Her words surprised all those who surrounded her. She began to study them intently, Cas in particular.

“I have never seen mundanes keep such esteemed company.” she pitched her voice to call attention her gathering. “Truly, this is something to regard. You may never lay eyes on it again. We are in the presence of an angel.” 

The crowd rippled and inched forward. Cas was already on edge, and there was something about his gaze that stopped the courtiers from getting too close. That didn’t stop them from staring at him; as though he was an exotic creature that had been captured for their amusement. They squirmed in their places, as if wanting to touch him and a few licked their lips. Some glanced back at their Queen, who was also staring.

Dean didn’t like their eagerness, and something about their quick movements was setting off his radar. They had the movements of intelligent predators and the seemingly casual attitude of sociopaths. He felt the reassuring weight of his gun, and the holy water in his jacket pocket. Sam had salt and the knife. Both of them had iron. Dean moved forward on instinct, partly blocking Cas from the fey that were staring at them. The Queen could have her subjects attack them with just a word. She was watching them, drinking in their actions. Dean knew he had just given her a valuable piece of information.

The Queen licked her lips. “With such a fierce stare it is easy to believe that you are a messenger of Heaven.” she looked from Cas to Dean, and then back to Cas. “Your companion is so protective. Tell me, are you in his debt?” 

The courtiers hovered, trembling for a response. Even the Shadowhunters looked curious. Sam was looking back and forth. Dean wasn’t looking at Cas, but was still trying to gauge the danger. His shoulders showed that he was listening and awaiting the answer. For some reason it seemed important. Cas was looking downward, his eyelashes likened at half mast, partially concealing his eyes. He seemed to be truly considering the question, and he looked up at the same moment that Dean turned around to look at him. Almost as if he sensed that Cas was about to answer. When Cas looked at the Queen, his eyes were wide and bright.

“Yes.” 

The Queen practically purred. Whether it was at the unconcealed stunned expressions on Sam and Dean’s faces, or the answer in general, it wasn’t clear. She sighed wistfully at them, as if she wasn’t yet able to eat a much desired piece of cake.

“My apologies, I must turn my attentions elsewhere, diverting as they may be. The Clave can be quite unforgiving and I must give them due. The Nephilim are not the most patient of people, so I must attend to them first. It will also give my anticipation of our talk much greater joy.” 

“Take your time.” Sam replied, a little breathlessly. 

The Queen stared at Jace. “We have much to discuss. Say your piece.”

“Thank you, Lady. We know you wish to discuss the events of last night. So do we.” 

The Queen nodded. Even though she hadn’t shifted her position, her tone became more businesslike. 

“We know who it was that killed the fey child.”

“Was it one of the Vampires? Have you brought forward an individual? Law states you must hand it over, as it is our right to dispatch justice.” 

“It was not. It was Valentine. The blood wasn’t drained for nourishment, but for a ritual.”

The Queen looked surprised. “A ritual?”

“Yes and more blood will be needed.”

“More children of the folk will be slaughtered?” now she looked interested. 

“No, but the bloodshed will continue, not only for Shadowhunters but Downworlders as well.”

“I see.” If Jace were a ball, she would have dropped him. 

“My Lady?” Jace’s tone was incredulous and he paused to modulate his tone before speaking again. “Valentine is a threat to all, and he endeavors to succeed. To prevent this tragedy-”

“A tragedy only for your people.” The Queen interrupted.

When Jace spoke again, a tone of warning crept through. “My Lady, I could compel you for assistance.” 

Her eyes flashed. “I’m sure you could ‘compel my assistance’” her voice was honey covered acid. “You Shadowhunters consider it your mandate to protect through servitude. However I must remind you, that servitude did not come from a pleasurable loyalty. There are many who chafe at the bit and bridle. Duress has been the way of our relationship for many a year.” 

Jace recited something in a different language, and Sam realized it was Latin. 

“The Law is hard, but it is the Law.” 

“Ah yes.” The Queen breathed. “The creed of the Shadowhunters. The affirmation is gratifying to hear.” her tone had a mocking ring.

Jace clenched his teeth. “Yes it is. So if Valentine does manage to succeed, he will destroy Downworld. If that does happen, remember that it was a Shadowhunter that tried to warn you, protect you.”

“My, what chivalry, managing to bring grim tidings with such words.” her voice lost all its amusement. 

“Regrettably.” Jace didn’t sound regretful at all.

“My gratitude for such a thoughtful envoy.”

The Queen turned away from the group, but didn’t dismiss them. Jace remained seated and the others followed suit. Her gaze rested on the second quartet. She made a pout; it would be flirty if it wasn’t shadowed by her mirth. 

“I do hope you have brought sweet tidings…?” her eyelashes fluttered sleepily. 

Sam looked slightly dazed, his mouth looked as plump as the Queen’s, and he swayed. Cas lightly gripped his shoulder, and he jumped in surprise. He flushed with embarrassment, and briefly met the Queen’s eyes. 

“I’m not sure if you will consider this either good or bad news, but…” he hesitated. “ You have something that we want.” he flushed deeper at the implication and he glanced at his brother for help. 

Like Sam, Dean couldn’t look at The Queen for very long, but he finished Sam’s sentence. 

“A weapon.” he paused. “Crowley sent us.” 

There was a perceptible change. The Queen’s gaze became measured and cunning. She shifted; the movement was the sinuous rippling of a snake. She scooted forward, eyes burning. The sweetness was replaced with calm; she was still a panther, but it was more obvious than before. 

The teenagers were staring avidly. Simon was about to say something, but Isabelle shushed him, her eyes wide and her expression matched Jace’s. Here were mundanes taking them by surprise; a mystery had appeared out of the fog. Clary leaned forward. 

“My my.” her eyes held calculation like a sword. “You know of my arrangement with Crowley.” she made it a statement.

Dean knew this was a tactic for getting information, to get some kind of edge back. So Crowley had something on her, or over her maybe. The way she said it, implied that she thought if she said it in a congratulatory manner, as if she was impressed by them, they’d give her details. She thought they knew him well enough to use them to get to him. Dean just hoped that she couldn’t see past his bluff.

“Yes.” 

He kept his voice firm and plain. If she called his bluff and realized that he knew nothing of said arrangement, she might find some kind of hole to wriggle through and not give them the weapon, or screw them over. Or both. 

“Such a forceful request.” 

She was fishing, and with her eyes glimmering, Dean thought she could see thorough it, but she was wriggling. It was a trap. Dean remembered Crowley’s words. He let a smile play on his face, a knowing one. Implying that even if he didn’t know the details, he knew enough. 

“That’s Crowley for you. I know you’ll happily hand it over to us.” he kept his tone firm, but light. 

She knew a threat when she heard it. Sam helped by nodding along with Dean’s words. He didn’t have his puppy dog eyes on, but something a bit darker. It was an earnest face nonetheless and she gazed at it briefly. 

The Queen shrugged again. “True enough.”

She pierced them with a look. She saw through them, but didn’t see the trouble of fighting it. It made Dean curious as to what she had worked out with Crowley, but some things are just best left alone. Her look said:

“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood.” 

The Queen turned to Meliorn. “Bring it forward.” she commanded. She looked at Dean again. “I seem to have shed a burden of sorts. Perhaps I should give my thanks to Crowley.” she mused. 

“We’ll let him know what happened here.” Sam assured. 

The Queen looked wryly amused. “So kindly a threat.” she purred. “My thanks.”

Meliorn, who didn’t look pleased at his lady’s instructions, had now returned. He was carrying a large bundle of cloth as though it was a live bomb. He had paled, looking ready to drop it and return to the corner he reluctantly left. Setting it delicately onto the ground, had had kept it tightly bundled. It lay at her feet like some live thing that feigned innocence. The blood red cloth was delicately patterned with moving butterflies in colors of gold and burgundy. The Queen put on bare foot on the bundle; Meliorn went even paler at that, slim fingers twitching for his weapon. 

Dean made a move to take the bundle, the Queen moved it away from him with her foot; her ankle bracelets jangled at the motion. Her nails stood out against brightly colored against the cloth; they matched. The polish on the nails looked like droplets of blood on her feet. 

Dean grimaced; of course. As soon as you put your foot onto home plate, she would yank it out from under you. She gave Dean a playful smile; she relished his anger more than Sam’s alarm. This was one last game to play. A final parting gift in the form of one-upmanship. If it had been anyone else, Dean would have been inclined to play.

“A trade.” she hungrily drank in their expressions.

“I suppose Crowley wouldn’t mind.” he growled.

She didn’t seem afraid; it was a halfhearted threat, and even if it weren’t she was getting back at the silver-tongued demon in some way. Dean made a face. 

“Dunno what we have that you’d be interested in.”

The Queen giggled the sound floating high into the air and suddenly Dean had the feeling that they did have something. 

“Oh come now. Be sporting.”

She met Cas’s eyes. He glared back. She shivered, as if she enjoyed fear, even if it was her own. Her fingers fluttered, swift and soft as a hummingbirds’. Cas tilted his head away from her hands. His eyes flashed with something other than anger, not attraction or shame, but something Dean wasn’t able to identify.

“You seem immune to my charms. That could prove to be…would you be averse to staying here?”

“Very.” he spat. 

She appeared unruffled by the venomous response. “It seems to my eyes to be a fair trade.”

“You need your eyes checked.” Dean snapped. “You can’t have him-”

“Let him decide.” Sam interrupted. He ignored Dean’s shocked look. “You want something from him right? Well than he has the right to decide what to give you.” Sam gave the Queen a look of disgust. 

The Queen pouted, but she turned to Cas expectantly. 

“I am fascinated. The Fair Folk share an ancestry with the Shadowhunters, a curiosity to be sure. You however, have a home among the stars. This intrigues me. Perhaps you can tell us who spawned our race, or spin a tale on the exploits of your kin. Perhaps you kept the company of Raziel?”

Cas looked confused and he shook his head. He seemed to be searching for something. The Queen eyed him carefully.   
“I have heard tales. It has been said that to drink angels’ blood will bring happiness…”

Sam looked positively alarmed, and it rivaled with angered disgust. He may have suggested Cas to give the Queen whatever he wanted, but now it was Dean holding Sam back. Dean’s eyes were narrowed, but he had said nothing.

She continued. “It has also said that it is one of the most potent substances this world has to offer.” 

“That would be ill advised.” Cas managed to look reproachful. “You seem to want something. I have a suggestion, and I’m afraid that this will have to satisfy you.” he paused. “I know how to sing and there is one song that you would enjoy. Only one, and then we trade.” 

The Queen seemed satisfied with this and she nodded her head, indicating for him to continue.  
“I was fortunate to have learned this. An old friend taught me.” A spasm of sorrow passed over his face like a cloud. He closed his eyes.

He began to sing. It began as a low hum, starting from the ground up. Rising in pitch, it was still slow; it was a mournful song. Cas opened his mouth wider, and his voice was deep, not a baritone, but it was rich and harmonious. At first it was just pure sound, but then words began to slip in, swimming into the stream of melody. The words were in a language no one understood, but it was smooth and flawless. 

His voice had breathiness to it as he added layers of fluttering hope to the sad tone. It was a bittersweet song that was telling of happiness, memories of gentler time. A sharp note of something joyous with a tang of pain. It was not unlike a faerie song, but it tenuously rose up and down, like a baby bird’s first flight. Something about its purity made it all the more poignant. 

Cas’s eyes were still closed, and now his hands were moving of their own accord; he didn’t seem to be aware of their motions. They punctuated notes as his fingers flexed, and they accentuated the rest of the song, telling the rest of the story. He bowed it down low, letting regret fill it to the brim and his voice went into a pitch so deep, his throat vibrated. The words stopped, it was just noise. It undulated like waves, letting glimpses of something forbidden be seen. It was temptation in the form of a shimmering shell. Then his voice became the equivalent of an acoustic guitar, and a fearful dash of a violin’s bow would streak though, like lightening in the sky. 

His lips puckered-a perfect bow, and they formed words. A kind of chant at first, wrapping itself around the words and let them spin around his tongue and blow out. He was kissing the notes, making a goodbye as he left the regret behind. There was a rising; it was gaining speed and power. It was warbling with incandescent determination. They were marching up the hill, dropping pieces of doubt onto the ground. It wasn’t exactly sad, but gave the impression of gritting one’s teeth, of swallowing sobs-

And then it was soaring; his words had wings and they were rising up to the ceiling, high notes hitting the air, igniting it. His fists clenched as he reached the crescendo. The words slipped away, as if being pulled back by gravity and the verses gave way to unadulterated sound. It was at the peak, the high point of the roller coaster. Looking down at the precipice, seeing everything laid out below, but not able to understand it all. That didn’t matter. His voice went higher and higher, a winding soprano that that pierced the crux. It was pure love. Love of the good and the bad, unafraid to feel pain as if his tenor was a sword. He held it, letting it become torturous as he dangled over the edge.

A sunrise blazed up just he took the plunge. His voice didn’t simply lower but swept itself around, becoming frantic; almost like a chant as the words came back, still shortened. It slowed down and the words lengthened and rippled, giving one last throwing refrain of glory. It became a haunting hymn of words, as if speaking to an old friend. It was a velvet embrace; it wanted to crush, never let go, but kept it gentle. It was a note goodbye, of remembrance. The small word was spoken clearly, ringing like the last words in a book before finally fading away like the morning mist. 

The song ended. Cas’s eyes fluttered open, as though he was struggling to wake up from some deep enchanted sleep. He didn’t slump to the ground but there was certain tiredness in his posture, as if spent. Cas’s breath was coming out in flutters, cheeks and lips pink. It somehow made him look very young. 

Without a word the Queen nudged to bundle with her foot. Her eyes were wet pools. Sam darted forward to retrieve the thick cloth as the Queen grabbed a goblet and drained it in a single swallow. Her composure was much better than that of her courtiers, some of whom were openly weeping. They appeared to be too stunned to applaud, but clutched at their chests or to those who were next to them. 

The group wasn’t much better it seemed. Dean was staring at Cas as if he had never seen him before, but he didn’t utter a single word. Sam nudged Dean, staring at Cas with incredulous eyes, but there was a congratulatory smile of amusement. Dean didn’t move even when Sam tried to get his attention. Jo had clasped her hands over her mouth, but there was a smile hidden beneath. Her eyes were wide with shock, and looked suspiciously bright. She took a shuddery breath. Simon stared unabashedly, openmouthed, the tie long taken off. Isabelle had scooted closer to him and was looking close to speaking. Jace was staring with something that wasn’t necessarily shock, but that he had been absorbed into the song and had just woken up. He had scooted closer to Clary, their fingers nearly touching. Clary seemed to be in a similar bind as Jace, and she was blinking rapidly, as if moved. 

Hands were unraveling the cloth as no one spoke. No one knew how to break the spell, and the silence was becoming eerie. A sudden, simple cocking click made everyone jump. The courtiers gasped, and all their frivolity and theatrics returned as if given back to them. The layers of vibrant fabric were lying in a discarded pile on the ground. 

Dean held the colt in his hands. His clear green eyes inspected it, fingering the cold metal with expert hands. He was giving it an appraisal. Giving it the once over, he raised it in the air; the inscription blazed like fire on its barrel. Dean mock aimed it at a tree, putting his finger on the trigger. 

“Bang.” he mouthed. 

“‘I shall fear no evil’” Jace suddenly recited, nodding at the Latin. “Cute piece.” that seemed to be said for both Dean and Cas.

“Ain’t it?” Dean gave him a feral grin that matched Jace’s. 

The Queen eyed the weapon with a chilly distaste, and she impatiently motioned for quiet from her subjects.   
“It seems that this would be an eventful occasion for us.” She looked at both groups. “We thank you for such a momentous time-” she inclined her head.

“And for us as well.” Jace replied smoothly.

He stood quickly and everyone followed suit. Jace led the way to the entryway, but as Clary tried to move forward, she tripped back. She tried again, this time more forcefully and she nearly bounced back and stumbled. Simon caught her before she fell over. Before anyone could speak, the Queen continued as if there had been no interruption.

“I beg for your indulgence. I ask only a few more moments of your time.”

“What is this, my lady?” Jace asked. 

There was no more politeness in his voice, and he had tacked the title in as an afterthought. He looked at the Queen through suspicious eyes. For the first time that night, he looked dangerous. 

“I rather thought, since you had nothing to bring but unfortunate news, and no parting gifts, I would like to give you one. It would be rude for me not to give such esteemed guests something. After all-” she gestured to the Hunters. “They have what they sought after, did they not?” 

“So you’re forcing us to accept a present?” Jace couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Or am I wrong in thinking we can leave anytime we want?”

He tried to push the vine curtain back. His hand stood flat against it, the muscles in his whole arm stood out.   
The Queen held up one delicate finger. “If a mortal who steps foot into my court, and eats or drinks anything of my house, then they are bound to me. It is as binding as my words, the magic of the Faerie Queen.”

“We didn’t drink anything!” Clary protested. 

“Didn’t you?” she raised one delicate eyebrow.

Jace slowly turned to Clary. She flushed at his incredulous disapproval, but before she could make a protest, she blanched at a sudden thought.

“The sprite-it bit me.” 

Jo suddenly nodded, her expression cleared to realization at the same time as Simon’s. This joke was on Clary, and said girl scowled at the Queen. 

“So none of us can leave until you give us our gift?” she asked.

The Queen gave a serpentine smile. “You all came together, you all leave together. That is what companions are for, are they not?” 

“Okay, so where is it?” Jace spread his hands expectantly.

Simon had a similar look, eyes glancing around for something that looked remotely present like. His eyes fell on the fabric that held the colt. 

“How about that?” he asked the Queen.

She smiled at the suggestion and for a moment, it looked like she really might give it to them. The she wriggled in her seat; it was a girlish, seductive motion and she looked as if she was too bashful and excited to say whatever it was that she really wanted from them. On anyone else, it could have been charming, but her eyes held too much menace. Sam could feel the dread fill up the room like lead, and the Queen seemed to be enjoying that too. 

She gave the cloth a glance. “Yes that would look lovely on her. You have good taste for such a young…creature.” Simon flushed, and backed away. “But what she desires the most is something that is beyond her grasp.” 

“What kind of crap is that?” Jo muttered. 

“Very potent ‘crap.’” Jo jumped at the Queen’s reply. “It will be a kiss that will leave her unbound.” 

“So I kiss someone, ok.” Clary tried not to shiver. “No big deal.”

“Lots to choose from.” Jace joked, but it was ruined by his bleak expression. 

Simon made an indignant noise. “Um hello?” he pointed to himself.

Simon moved away from Isabelle and strode over to Clary. He gave her a reassuring smile, but hers was too shaky. Simon gripped her shoulders lightly, red faced from the close scrutiny of everyone else. Clary nodded in acquiescence. She felt herself heat with embarrassment and she closed her eyes tight. Simon’s breath tickled her lips and she fought to keep nervous giggles back. 

His lips were on hers. It was light and soft, and any other time she would have been comfortable with it. She wasn’t now, and she tried not to pull away, her hands twitching by her sides. They sprang apart.

“Tada!” Simon shouted in a too loud voice.

“There done. Ok, let’s go.” Clary made for the exit, only to be pushed back again.

She quickly avoided Simon’s face. She just knew that she’d find incredulous hurt and betrayal. She couldn’t blame him. Clary knew that she just gave a wound so deep, she might as well as stabbed him with a sword. She felt a rush of anger at not only the Queen but herself. 

“What about Isabelle?” Dean suggested.

“Dean!” shouted Jo and Sam in unison. 

He raised his hands in surrender. 

“I’m just saying. I’m sure she doesn’t want us to just all form a line.” 

“Oh what would you know?” came an irritable reply. It could have been anyone.

“Does it have to be Clary?” Sam asked the Queen.

“I have made my terms obvious.” 

“Well that’s a yes.” snapped Dean. He turned to the others. “No offense to any of you, but I’m really not in the mood for an orgy.”

“None taken.” 

“How about Cas?” Isabelle spoke up. “He’s angel, and he doesn’t seem affected by magic, maybe he could take the spell off.” 

“I am-”

“Wait, can angels even kiss?” 

“No.” Dean spoke up, looking mortified. “He can’t. He’s still a-”

“Well we gotta get out of here somehow.” 

“I don’t wanna be stuck here forever.” 

“Any better ideas?” 

Clary glanced up, everyone was speaking at once. She trembled and glanced back at the Queen, who followed with amusement, and she gestured for another cup to be brought to her. Clary gritted her teeth, feeling an anger that was sending her reeling. 

“Look.” she spat at the Queen. “Just tell me who to kiss. Since you probably have someone in mind.”   
Everyone stopped arguing. The Queen preened from the undivided attention. She didn’t speak, but she let her stare bore into Clary before dragging her gaze away to rest on Jace then looked back at Clary. Clary heard herself gasp, felt herself gasp. Her chest rattled from the sound. 

“Aren’t they siblings?” Jo asked slowly, as if to make sure she got it right.

“Yeah.” Isabelle looked agonized for Jace, her dark eyes full of grief.

Dean made a noise, but was cut off from Sam as Jace glared at the two. Dean looked disgusted, not at Jace or Clary, but rather at the Queen. 

“You think that’s fun? That siblings like hearing about how ‘hot’ they’d look together? Like it wouldn’t-” 

“Shut up.” Isabelle’s voice was soft with a dangerous sorrow. 

Dean nodded once in apology. Sam cringed, avoiding the Queen’s eyes. 

“You don’t have to do this you know.” Simon assured Clary. 

“Unless we would like to stay here forever.” Cas deadpanned. “The Queen would enjoy that.” 

Clary could feel the hot well of tears blur the room, humiliation scorching her. She only looked up when she heard the click of a hammer pulling back. Dean had loaded the colt and pointed it at the Faerie Queen. The fey that lounged beside her suddenly sprang up with shrieks, knocking over cups and trays. Liquid drenched the ground, and fruits and cakes squished underneath feet. They tripped over themselves in haste to get as far away as possible. A few smaller ones were not as lucky as they were trampled on. Courtiers pressed themselves against the walls, shouting.

Meliorn shouted, his cries bringing forth more armored faeries; they had drawn out their weapons, and warily encircled them. Guns had been drawn, and Jace and Isabelle held cylinder-esque objects in their hands, and they glowed dimly. Isabelle looked ready to shout, but Jace shushed her, and put himself in front of Clary. Simon was gaping, and appeared unable to say anything coherent. Isabelle shoved him behind her. 

Sam had shot a warning look to Dean, but kept a tight grip on the handle of his gun. Some of the armored faeries had edged closer, lips pulled back into vicious snarls, and braced for a fight, their weapons raised. Meliorn made to rush into the fray but pulled up short when Cas suddenly moved in front of him, and he matched Meliorn in fierceness.   
Dean had the satisfaction of seeing the Queen surprised, but she didn’t show fear as she stared down the barrel of the gun. She moved slowly, and when she next spoke, her voice was honeyed. 

“I have many knights.” she gestured to the armored fey surrounding them. “My enchantments are some of the most powerful ever seen, mortal.” she smiled. “Even if you do manage to kill me you will not leave here alive.”

Dean shook his head, as if trying to see past a heat wave. “Maybe, maybe not. But we-” he gestured to Sam, Jo, and Cas without taking his eyes off the Queen. “Have got enough between us to put up a fight. Plus, an angel, who will smite your ass all the way into next week.” he gave her a tight smile. “So here’s a trade: you let us go. All of us and you get not to die. Sound good?” 

“Dean…” one of the Shadowhunters warned. “ Think about this-”

“No!” Clary shouted suddenly. “It’s ok, I’ll do it.”

Clary pushed past Jace, and willed the Queen to look at her.

“I’ll do it. Just let us go, and we won’t bother you again. I’ll do it, and you don’t hurt anyone.” she pleaded. 

The Queen made an imperious gesture, and the fey knights reluctantly stepped back, looking disappointed that they wouldn’t spill any blood. Meliorn glared fiercely at them all. Her expression was wicked and she leaned back. As if to say, she was going to get her way no matter what. She waved her hands together, motioning for Clary and Jace to face each other. Jace looked as if he had swallowed some live thing, and it was clawing its way through his insides. 

“It’s okay.” Clary tried to get her voice to stop trembling. 

“Of course. This doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Of course.” 

Clary exhaled loudly, blowing out air. She bounced in place and waved her hands. Almost like a nervous athlete warming up. Jace stood inches from her, not moving; Clary figured he must be too nervous to be able to make her feel better. She will herself to stay ramrod straight, like she would for a dentist to examine her teeth. Jace grabbed her shoulders and unlike Simon, his grip was like iron. His hands burned into her, his heat was melting into hers.

“Think about whatever you want. Christmas, kittens, a unicorn…”

Clary wished Jace would shut up and get it over with already. His breath tickled her face, and then she got her wish. His lips were softer than she thought they’d be, and she shivered at the unbidden thought of what was behind them and what that could be like. His lips were closed, and she mewled. The kiss was perfectly chaste, and when he slowly pulled back, her face tickled and thrummed from the close approximation. It was like her body knew that Jace was only millimeters away from her, and was waiting for him to pull back. An expectation that had to be fulfilled, like the way the Earth expects the Sun to appear. A buzzing filled her ears, and Clary thought it might be her atoms waiting for his.

He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing hadn’t ceased or relaxed. A wave of boiling heat covered her from scalp to toes, and something warm and salty was on her face. He must have noticed because he crooned nonsense to her. It was an action a real brother would do. If they had lived together and he was used to keeping her safe, chasing away nightmares, and fixing scrapes, and hugging her when boys broke her heart.

He was he brother and she had to keep herself from crying out in despair. Jace nuzzled into her hair, and his hands wrapped around her shoulders and he let more of his weight settled next to hers. Clary could feel her tears leave trails and imprints on Jace’s face, sharing something else. Her heart jolted when his lips brushed her eyelids, his mouth wet with her tears.

Clary’s knees gave, bones liquefied and she felt another gut twisted emotion of molten shame. Just being so close was enough to unravel her that she’d vibrate with tension and she’d wish for her organs to spill or her DNA to reassemble itself. She gasped in surprise when he kissed her again.

Jace pressed harder this time, and the pressure made Clary nearly collapse, and she grabbed his jacket, hands whipping wildly into action. Like magnets, their mouths opened together, almost against their will, almost instinctual. All the sound was pushed away from her; there was a barrier between them and the outside. There was only Jace and herself. Jace’s arms wrapped around her like poisonous vines, his grip tight enough to choke her, and she wanted it. A traitorous, vindictive heat had pooled in between her legs and it competed with the shame that she felt on her face and the wailing inside her chest. Something deep inside her stirred, some primeval creature raised its head. Her gut trembled as she slid one leg in between Jace’s. 

‘This is wrong, this is so wrong-’

Her hands snaked their way into Jace’s hair. She thought it would have felt course, like a lion’s mane, but it was silky soft. She could play with his hair all day; if they knew each other as children she would have drove him crazy. His hands moved to the small of her back, and she could feel the scars and calluses. It was a roadmap of war, and her back arched like a willow tree in the breeze. 

If only-she wanted the kiss to plunge; she could smell herself become pungent, and leave traces on his skin. Her tongue was thick wriggling thing, searching blindly for some tight place. Suddenly it was a fierce tug and pull, and she wished Jace would snap her in half and then put her back together any way he wanted-Suddenly Jace pulled away and it took all of Clary’s willpower not to cry out. He was panting slightly and his gold eyes turned very dark, ringed with something she couldn’t understand. Jace looked at her briefly, and she saw his lips were slick and reddened, and that a bruise would appear later on. 

He turned to the Faerie Queen.

“Satisfied?” He glowered at her. “Hope you enjoyed the show.” he spat, hate dripping off his words.

The Queen had reclined as far as cushions would allow. Her slim legs were rubbing together like some giant grasshopper, and her fingers were all about her mouth. Her eyes bored down on them, and they were dark as the bottom of a well. It was as if their desire had sparked her own. Her dress creased as she spoke.

“Very.” she purred. “Almost as much as yourselves.” 

As she moved, and she did, even if she appeared to be still; she looked like some large monstrous insect queen, lounging in comfort as her conniving subjects brought her nourishment and amusement. She heaved a sigh. 

“A bargain is a bargain. All of you are free to go.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
It was for the most part silent as they waded out of the water. Conversations were only about who was going where, or errands. Except for Clary.

“Simon-” she called. 

She looked wildly around for him, expecting him to just pop out of the water, but she knew he would be upset.

“Where is he?! I have to talk to him, explain”

Jace pointed to a hill. Simon was striding in the opposite direction, already covering a large distance. A figure was keeping pace with him, and Clary could just make out a streak of blonde hair.

“I don’t think he wants to.” Jace didn’t sound unkind.

“But-” Clary felt Jace tug her back. He turned to the three men. “Your friend, Jo went with him.” 

Dean turned in time to see their figures become slivers in the distance. He sighed briefly.

“Well, she’s got a cell phone.” 

Clary nodded, and bit her lip. She felt someone squeeze her shoulder and it might have been Sam. She followed them out of the water and onto the path to the car. Their shoes squelched on the pavement and the wind made her hug her jacket tighter to her. They were a very bedraggled bunch. 

“Anyone need a ride?” Sam asked.

Dean almost scowled; the interior would take a beating for this, but he didn’t say anything. Isabelle turned to Jace; she looked like she wanted to reach for him, but something in his expression held her back.

“No thanks.” Isabelle replied. “I need to get to Magnus’s and tell them what’s happened.”

Isabelle turned to Clary expectantly; she looked oddly vulnerable. Clary trembled; Isabelle was a much better sister than she was, and Clary knew what Isabelle was getting at. To leave Jace alone for now. 

‘I’m sorry Isabelle. You really are a better sister.’

“No thanks.” 

Clary turned away to avoid Isabelle’s expression. Jace cleared his throat.

“Would you mind taking me back to the institute? I have a few things to pick up.” 

“Sure.”

Jace slid into the back seat with a nod of thanks, Cas followed him, and Clary went in wordlessly behind him. Sam gave one last look to Isabelle before they slammed the doors and drove off.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Simon hurried down the deserted street with only Jo for company. He didn’t mind. She hadn’t said a word so far, and when they were at a distance comfortable enough for him, he slowed down. It was late, or early, but still night, the moon high in the sky; Jo didn’t check her watch, or look at the street signs. She just waited. Simon wasn’t sure for what, but he wanted to break the silence. In a way, he was afraid that by doing that, it would acknowledge that what happened in the Seelie Court actually happened, but what if he didn’t? What if he just pretended that everything was ok? Clary and Jace flashed in his mind, and he suddenly knew that he didn’t want to pretend.

So he started to talk. 

“Surprised that it’s still night.” It would be good to start small.

“Oh?” she looked at him curiously. 

“The Faerieland has a time difference. Sometimes you could be in there for days and not know it.”

“Oh.” she continued. “That’s really creepy.” 

“They’re creepy.” 

“Creepiest things I’ve seen in a long time.” Jo replied. 

“Them too.” Simon paused, taking a breath. “Shadowhunters too.”

Jo looked surprised. 

“Aren’t they your friends?”

He laughed, and was surprised at the bitterness. “Not really. They treat me like crap. I think they only let me hang around em’ because of Clary.”

“Your girlfriend. Isn’t she a Shadowhunter?”

“Only until recently. On both counts. She and Jace were raised apart and didn’t even know each other existed until a couple of weeks ago. Now she’s all gung ho to be one too. She thinks they’re so cool, and Jace-well he’s the coolest.”

Jo’s shoes sloshed with water, it was the only sound next to Simon’s voice.

“He was so…smug, arrogant and Clary looked at him like he was an anime superhero come to life, and she always looked like she was just waiting for something to happen and sweep her away to adventure. She always had that look, you know? Like someone’s in their head, in places where you can’t follow. I knew-I knew. That as soon as she met some like that, like Jace-she’d-” he took a shaky breath. “She’d just take off. In a heartbeat.”

Jo wasn’t looking at him with pity, but maybe something else. Simon was glad; pity was horrible to give to somebody, a consolation prize, a very nice ‘oh, here you go.’ He just wasn’t sure if she’d know what he was talking about, it was so personal.

“It sucks to be left behind.” she said. “My dad used to be a hunter, before. He died.”

Simon wasn’t going to say I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be adequate, and anyway he knew how she felt.

“Mine too.”

Jo smiled. “Although yours probably from something else.” she didn’t sound chiding or bitter, just a gentle matter of fact-ness. “When he died, I got his knife. Mom didn’t want me to get into hunting, but I wanted to have something in common with Dad. I never really got to know him and I want to think that I make him proud. I love doing this job.”

Simon must have looked incredulous, because she laughed.

“ I know right? But this was the only thing that I really liked. It’s scary as hell, and you never know what’s gonna happen next but…helping people feels good. The ones you can save anyway.” 

“Huh.” 

He liked hearing her talk. So full of serious hope, and he kinda had the feeling she might have been telling him it was ok. Not being a Shadowhunter, or how he felt. It didn’t make it any easier, but knowing someone knew that felt great. Sometimes you needed a stranger more than a friend.

“They really do care for each other.” She knew what he meant.

“Well they were raised apart right?” 

Simon grimaced. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

“I’m not sure either.”

“I don’t blame Clary, but I wanted to hate Jace. Still do, but…I feel horrible for trying to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I saw the way he looked. The whole time. I thought he was just stringing her along, and would quit when he found out he’s her sister, but that’s not it. He feels the same way she does…and its killing him.”

Jo regarded him silently. “I didn’t look at him. Or…I didn’t look at them. It was hard to watch, so I looked at you. That was pretty hard to watch too.” 

So they were even. She knew that he wasn’t gonna get over Clary. They walked on in silence once again, the subject seemed closed; nothing more needed to be said.   
________________________________________________________________________  
At the Institute, everyone piled out. 

“I just need an hour or so.” Jace assured. He sounded strangely young. “That’s cool with you?” 

Clary raised an eyebrow at his out of turn phrasing, but it was the easiest thing to think of so far. Dean nodded as if it was obviously okay, but didn’t say anything else. 

“I’ll stay here too.” she was surprised to hear that her voice sounded like lead. “I’m a Shadowhunter. I can escort you back.” 

She was sure she saw them exchange a look, or try to say something. They seemed to think better of it. Clary was pretty sure they knew that there was nothing to say. Or maybe they just thought it was none of their business.

“Ok.” Dean started the ignition. “We’ll be back soon. Just call us when you‘re ready.”

“Thanks.” Jace’s eyes still looked dark, but maybe they were a little grateful too.

The two of them watched the car slowly turn down the lane and they walked inside. Clary shivered when they went inside; the air was cold, and all the lights were doused. They rode the clanging elevator in silence, and when they stepped into the foyer, no one, not even Church greeted them. 

“I’m going to grab a shower.”

“I’ll just wait here.” 

Jace looked firm. “No. Come in my room. I’ve got some clean clothes you can change into.”

Clary mutely followed him. His room was still the same Spartan clean that she remembered, with no posters, books, or personalized sheets. Nothing to suggest that anyone really lived in it. She felt a twinge of sadness. He didn’t make a home for himself. She remembered her old room, the way it was before Valentine’s servants destroyed it and she blinked back tears. Even though it was gone forever, some memories of it remained at Luke’s house, and Simon’s-

She flipped out her cell phone, trying to be discreet. Jace had already laid out some clothes for her and his back was to her; he was getting ready for his shower. She stared at her phone, trying to gather her courage. She sighed, gently let it thump on Jace’s bed and began to change.

The water hissed to life, and steam was starting to gather beneath the door. Clary lifted the shirt, smelling it. It was clean. It smelled of soap, fresh and full of Jace-scent. It was a little wrinkled, but she didn’t care. If Jace knew how to do his laundry perfectly, then that would just be a little too weird. She glanced down at her phone. Clary quickly scrolled through and clicked Simon’s number.

It just kept ringing. With just the dial tone, her nerves got even jumpier. 

“What are you doing?”

Clary jumped, and spun around. Jace was in a towel, skin slicked with water and suds still clung to golden muscles. Clary’s insides felt a delicious shiver go through her; the creature inside her lifted its head, sniffing the air. She wanted to hate him for appearing like that. His eyes narrowed when he saw her fingers were clutching her phone, its burring audile despite the running showing. 

“You were calling rat-boy weren’t you?” his voice accusing.

Clary clenched her teeth. “Simon. He saved your life remember? All our lives. What’s your problem?”

Jace glared at her but said nothing. His gold eyes had a strange glint to them, but Clary couldn’t figure it out.

“Besides.” she continued, hearing Simon’s voicemail switch on. “He’s not picking up.”

Jace’s face filled with exasperation. “Obviously not. I saw his face, I was looking at him.”

His voice was filled with something incredulous and condescending. As if to say:

“He is your friend, and I was paying better attention than you.”

Clary gave Jace a fierce glare; she knew what he really meant, and now he knew that she did too. She had the childish urge to shout that she was Simon’s friend first, and Jace had no right to tell her about her own friend, someone he didn’t even like.

“Exactly why I should! It was my fault-”she shouted, ignoring Jace’s expression.

‘Because I should have been paying attention. I had forgotten about him entirely, when I should know better.’ she thought with a guilty squirm. 

“No it’s not-besides, I started it.”

He moved forwards, ready to embrace her. At the thought, the creature sat up, intrigued, whining hungrily. Clary threw up her hands to ward it off. Jace stood back a pace, his face looking pained.

“Clary-”

“Your all wet.” she knew it was flimsy excuse.

Jace knew it too. His eyes turned flinty, trying desperately to cover up pain. He seemed to be struggling to say something, and Clary wanted her phone again. She made a grab for it but Jace was too quick and he batted it out of her hands. It went skittering to the floor. Clary didn’t bother to retrieve it. 

“So you’ll just run away? Run away to use Simon, or maybe me next time?”

Clary was shocked. “Use Simon?! What they hell are you talking about?!”

Jace moved forward again; he was determined to get something. “You don’t really love him.”

It was his matter of fact tone that angered Clary most of all.

“Of courses I do! How dare you tell me how I feel, just because you’re my brother doesn’t give you any right to tell me how I can and can’t feel. You don’t own me-”

Jace cut her off. “I’m not saying it because I’m your brother; I’m saying it because you want to hide behind Simon-to stop this-”

At ‘this’, he gestured to the space between them. To everything that had happened. Not only from last night but also the night of her birthday, the battle at Renwick’s, and discovering that their father was Valentine. All of it the essence of their relationship and whatever it was between them.

“I know it scares you. It scares me too. But Clary-” he gripped her arms tight. “It’s ok, this can work-”

Clary wanted desperately to lean into his touch, like affection would allow. She couldn’t see a way that touching him wouldn’t wake that creature up, that it wouldn’t cry in delight. That she couldn’t even show affection, that even the most innocent gestures would have a double meaning, some kind of perversion. Then she knew: this was how she felt. Her body did want that, even if her mind cried out in despair, the rest of her wouldn’t listen. She didn’t know how to make it go away.  
Her expression must have shown on her face because Jace tried to move toward her again, and Clary nearly cringed in fear.

“No.” she tried to avoid his stare. “We can’t give into this-”

Jace had stepped back as if she’d slapped him. She felt her face twist in agony at his reaction.

“This?”

“Whatever it is, at the Seelie Court-”

“Which we had to do.” he cut her off.

“Yes, but not like that. You shouldn’t have kissed me like that.”

Jace’s voice was hard. “Then why’d you let me?”

Clary tried to keep herself in check. Under his hard gaze, she quivered and the creature inside knew how to remedy this, and say all the words that could be said. She shut her eyes tight, trying to cram the creature back in the cage. She hoped her voice would be steady.

“I shouldn’t have.” 

She watched his face crumple briefly; whatever deep thing he was feeling got crushed before he could voice it. Shot down without a word. Was that better or worse than having said it, letting the weight of the words become reality and then be pushed away? Clary couldn’t tell. She watched his face go through the spasms of concealing pain before anger took over, and then the smooth glide of cool disdain and disinterest. 

“Well, I guess not.” he turned his back on her, a clear dismissal. “I hope none of the hot water ran out.” he said lightly and as if it was just to himself, but really she knew what it meant.

The door slammed, and strands of hair fluttered around her face. Clary stared down at the floor. It was blurry, and she bent down to retrieve her phone. She flipped it open, scrolling through the numbers. Luke’s name was visible, his number fuzzy.   
She knew she should call him, tell him what happened. But the thought of facing him and knowing what she had done, filled her with shame. Sinking down onto the bed, she clutched her phone and cried.  
________________________________________________________________________  
After what felt like forever, Dean finally pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour Laundromat. He sat for a moment, slowly pulled the keys out of the ignition. 

“That.” he breathed. “Was crazy.”

Sam snorted. “I’ll say. Pulling the colt on the Queen of Faeries? You’ve done some stupid things before, but…”  
“Yeah, yeah. It’s been said, but did we really know that she’d keep her word?” He continued. “We’re lucky to have gotten the colt as it is!” 

“How did she acquire the gun?” Cas asked.

“Crowley.” Dean replied. “Which you would have known if you went with us.” he rolled his eyes.

“That is troubling.”

“Yeah well what’d you expect?” Dean snapped.

“No, I wasn’t referring to that.”

“Then what?” Sam asked.

“What the Queen said…”

Dean turned to look at Cas. “She said a lot of things.”

“True, but Faeries cannot lie. They are physically unable to; it is a part of their magic.”

“Okay…” Dean replied slowly.

“Faerie magic is binding. When they make bargains, they must adhere to them. Twist them anyway they please, yes, but they have to honor the commitment.” Cas put in, leaning forward from the backseat.

“We know that.” Dean shot back. “Well, we know that now, but what does that have to do with anything?!”

“Dean.” Sam gave his brother a look. He turned in his seat. “What are you getting at Cas?”

“The Shadowhunters. She called them Nephilim.”

He really was troubled by this. Dean shot his brother an aggrieved expression, but Sam seemed to know what Cas was talking about. 

“What is that?” Dean asked.

“A legend.” Sam explained. “A section of the Bible tells a story about how a group of angels fell in love and had children with humans. Nephilim are those offspring.”

“Which is not possible.” Cas sounded strained.

When the two men looked back at him, he amended himself.

“Or rather, if it was The Host would not allow it.”

Dean snorted; he made his opinions on the rest of Cas’s family vocally known in the past. He opened the door and Sam and Cas followed suit. A lot of things they shouldn’t have allowed to happen, they did, and things that would have been perfectly okay were completely out of the question. He had said this before and did so now. Cas looked aggrieved, but not because of what Dean was saying.

“True enough, but this would be…” Cas shook his head, as if amazed at the notion.

“Too big?” Sam supplied. 

Cas nodded, looking grateful for the assistance. “Very. I’m not sure how it is even possible…I’ve certainly never heard of anyone who had any proof of this.”

“Well, maybe they were lying to you guys. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Dean reasoned. 

Sam made a noise of agreement, and they began to pile clothes. Cas looked nonplussed as Dean began pushing a bag into his arms. 

“Let’s go.”

Sam grabbed the laptop; ignoring Dean’s teasing “Geek”, and walked in. Cas started to speak again, looking considering. 

“Although, I might have the proof before me.” he mused.

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked as he helped Dean pile laundry onto a table.

“The fact that they even had an angelic sword in their possession-a rather powerful one I might add. They have odd weapons I have never seen before but I felt them. They use some kind of script. It resembles Enochian, and in several different variants it seems.”

Sam powered on the laptop as Dean sorted and put their clothes in the machine. Dean tugged on Cas’s trench coat, when Cas stared at him uncomprehendingly he explained.

“You’re not a cartoon. You can’t wear the same things every day, besides this is soaking wet.”

He reached into the bottom of one of their bags. He found a shirt and jeans at the very bottom, which meant they were the cleanest. He put them in front of Cas.

“Here” 

Cas stared at them for a moment before peeling off his coat. Dean grabbed it and stuffed it into a machine. Cas began to change, ignoring their looks. They were the only people there.

“There was another thing.” he said. “They had an odd…power.”

“You mean that echo thing you were talking about?” Dean leaned on the edge of the table. 

“Yes. It had a vague resemblance to our grace.”

“Grace is what makes an angel an angel right?” Sam asked, typing quickly.

“That is the simplest way to put it.” Cas replied. “These Shadowhunters don’t have it, so I shouldn’t feel this…connection.”

“Connection?” Dean asked.

“It’s hard to describe.”

“Ok, here’s something.” Sam announced.

He loaded up a page. It looked like a site on archeology, taking about an old dig and what had been discovered. One picture showed a large skull, dusty with age, but it was still apparent that the skull was human, or human shaped. 

“That kids, is what happens when a dinosaur and a caveman love each other very much.” Dean commented. 

“Not your best work there Dean.” Sam countered. “I got this because they named it after Nephilim.”

Sam pulled up another tab, clicking away and revealing a biblical text.

“According to some legends, Nephilim were giants. The story goes on to say that when a pair of angels who sired some of these creatures, they went to a pious old man named Enoch. They wanted him to speak to God on their behalf. Long story short, when they get there, God isn’t too happy with them. God then praises Enoch, and he gets to stay in Heaven and becomes Metatron the voice of God.”

“Metatron was never a man.” Cas replied, confused. “Your Bible has some misapprehensions.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean replied.

“Which brings me to Enochian-”

“Named after the Enoch guy?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, apparently he was the last human to know the angel language and he recorded some of it. Its incomplete, but…” he looked thoughtful. “I’ll need more than just this.” he gestured to his computer.

“They had an odd phrase.” Cas said. “‘By the Angel.’”

“As in By God?” Sam asked.

“It was an exclamation. So yes, I believe so.”

“Strange lives.” Dean commented.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Jo and Simon turned down another corner, this one more deserted than the last. They had been progressively getting into the rougher part of the city, or well one of them at any rate. Simon had picked up his pace, and Jo had to catch up. His pace seemed almost trace-like, but he said nothing of it. A couple hundred feet away was and old building with a broken sign, its letters cracked and rusty, one letter was gone entirely. 

Simon stopped short and blanched when he saw the building. Jo hurried to get to him. She stopped when she got to his side, watching him stare at the building with undisguised horror.

“What? I know this is pretty shady neighborhood, but we’ve been in it for a while now-”

Simon didn’t answer, but instead pointed to its sign.

The Dumort

Jo looked nonplussed. She had taken enough Spanish to know what it meant, but it was just an abandoned building. Jo stepped forward to get a better look; she heard Simon’s intake of breath, and the sound of his shoes crunching on litter. It was deserted, and the windows were boarded in a few places, but some had been covered in tarp and held in place with bricks. The ground around it was surrounded by grime and trash. A few scrawls of graffiti looked hastily painted on, but it looked like someone took the trouble to whitewash it.

The place did have an air of old grandeur, since it used to be a hotel. It had the popular old design of a chain. Probably built when the area was still a rich residential district and the only people who lived in this particular section were the upper class white families. Of course time and immigration changed all that, but the building hadn’t forgotten, even if its glory had faded. Still, something about it was off-putting. Jo felt her instincts prickling, and she tried to peer into the cracks. It was completely dark, but she could have sworn she just saw something move-

Jo sprang back, pushing away creeping vines and decided to leave it be. Her shoes crunched on glass, and she almost hissed at the sound she made; freezing, she just began to look around with just her eyes. Dread made her keep the building somewhere in her line of sight as she slowly inched away. 

“Simon?” she said, not bothering to raise her voice. 

He wasn’t where he used to be. He wasn’t anywhere. Normally, she wouldn’t have been too fussed, but this could get dangerous, especially for a white boy who doesn’t know how to fight. She looked down at the ground; a streetlight illuminated a still-soggy shoe print. 

‘Guess it’s my lucky day.’

She followed the prints to an alleyway; it used to be a service entry for delivery trucks, now it was littered with trash, and a dumpster that was shunted sideways. Its contents overflowed. Something white glinted off to the side, hanging out of the lid’s catch, and dangling there. Even from this distance, Jo knew it was a bone. She lightly moved forward; it was picked clean, ravaged by teeth marks, and entirely too white. Not human, but from some smaller animal. 

She glanced around. This didn’t seem like the place to throw away your dog’s table scraps, and she peered into the dumpster and saw more of them. She reached into her messenger bag for a knife. She let the tip of the blade poke through the trash, more bones were inside. They were all shapes and sizes, and she was relieved to see that none of them appeared to be human. A sound clanged and skittered. Jo willed herself not to jump. She walked to the wooden broken fence and peered inside. The back of the hotel was just as creepy, and this yard was littered with more garbage and bones. Another rustle and she could see a dark head of hair bobbing frantically. Simon. She hurried to his side and grabbed his shoulder. He yelped and spun around. When he saw it was her, he relaxed.

“You scared the crap out of me!” he whispered. 

“What are you doing?” 

Simon didn’t flush, and he didn’t quite look guilty; he was hiding something, but it was making him afraid. His eyes were wide, saucer sized and confused.

“What’s going on?” she kept her voice just sharp enough to get a decent answer.

Simon took a deep breath. “Something happened to me when I met the Shadowhunters.”

He began to fiddle with a grate on the ground. His fingers were frantically playing with the metal, scraping against its ridged surface. He began to speak again as he did so.

“When Clary was trying to find out what she was, we had to visit someone. A warlock-Magnus.” 

The grate gave a little, and Simon’s fingers wriggled beneath the gap and he began to tug.

“So Magnus-he was throwing a party, and when I went there, I drank something.” he made a face; it would have been funny any other time. “I turned into a rat. I know crazy right? Well it happened-”

“I believe you.” Jo cut in.

The muscles jumped and strained as Simon tugged with all his might. The grate gave and Simon dropped it when he was suddenly met with no resistance. He winced at the sound, managing to become even paler. 

“There were these people-” Simon shuddered, seemingly unable to continue. “They took me back with them.” 

“These people?” Jo looked up at the hotel with new horror. “The people who live here?” 

“Yes.” he whimpered. “They thought I was one of them-and” he choked off, near tears. “I might be-”

“When you were a rat? How is that possible?” 

Simon moaned low in his throat and he stared at his feet in horror as they seemed to move on their own accord. His hands frantically pushed rot and garbage away from the grate’s entrance. He tried to prevent a scream as his body braced and began to lower itself inside the grate. He was beginning to disappear. 

Jo reached inside, and her hands only grabbed air. She bit back a curse and pushed herself feet first down the grate. When her feet touched the ground, she blinked. It was dark, but she couldn’t wait for her eyes to adjust, she had to get to Simon.  
He wasn’t hard to find; the only sounds were coming from him. Simon had stuck one of his fists in his mouth, and his breathing was short. Jo could almost hear him biting his knuckles. 

“I’m right behind you. Don’t scream.”

Jo reached for him. He still jumped, even if he didn’t make a sound. She felt for his shoulders; he was shaking. They were still walking and as Jo’s eyes adjusted, she could see it was some kind of hallway.

“Listen.” she whispered in his ear. “I need to know what’s going on, but I need your help. You’re going to have to calm down. Can you do that?”

Simon slowly removed his hands from his mouth. He drew in a shaky breath, and nodded. 

“Thank you. Ok, first: you were a rat?”

Simon might have smiled. This would have been funny if it wasn’t actually happening. He nodded again.

“When I was brought back here, they mistook me for one of them.” He continued on, “I didn’t know if anyone was coming to save me. When they did, it got really messy and I bit one of the people who were holding me…hostage.”

They came out of the hallway; Jo turned back. It was a servant’s hall. It was in the old days, when the help couldn’t use the same hallways as the guests, and had to take different routes. They walked forward, coming into a more elegant looking room. It reminded Jo of when she watched The Titanic and the scene where they showed the grand staircase. This room was magnificent, or it used to be. For one thing, the staircase had been ripped out. Dust hung, clung and coated every surface. The dark wood of the furniture was dulled by it. Mold clung to the carpets, flying up into plumes when stepped on. Chandeliers and candelabras still gleamed, their candles dried out stumps. Wax clung to them and crusted on the edges, flecks covered tables and clung. 

Jo glanced upwards. She could see an upstairs, its own hallway and its railings were missing in some places. Jo squinted. She just barely make out the rooms beyond them. She bristled; at any time, someone could just peer over the ledges on the hallway; here was even a smaller circular balcony to observe what was going on below. Almost like an opera house. 

“Where are they?” she whispered.

“Here” he looked around. “They probably already know we’re here.” 

“What do they look like?” Jo turned to him. “Simon, what do the rat-people look like?”

Simon could’ve squeaked. “Not…rat-people. Vampires.” 

At the word, he shuddered. He had said it so breathy that Jo was amazed she could have heard the response at all. She stared at him in shock; she couldn’t tell if he could even see it, or how he would have responded.

‘Rat People…are vampires? How could they mistake Simon for one of them? They can’t transform or anything, but that does explain the bones. They’ve been draining prey and just chucking them out when finished. I bet the garbage was just to hide it from anyone who’d prowl around. The smell alone would keep people away. This place is pretty dark for a nest and big too. Just how many of them are there?’

“This is a nest?” she asked.

Simon just nodded; he seemed to be holding back sobs. Jo almost wanted to ask him if the Shadowhunters knew about this place, and if so why not just wipe it off the map. She rummaged in her messenger bag, and found what she was looking for: a knife holster. She strapped it her thigh and felt the reassuring weight of the knife resting inside. She had a flashlight; nobody like getting shined in the face with one no matter who they were. She pulled it out of her bag and handed it to him. Simon seemed to like holding something at the moment.

“So…you bit one and now you think you’re turning into one?” she asked him.

“Correct.” another voice answered. 

Jo looked up. The upper floor was filled with them. They were vampires. Simon made another moaning noise. He sounded like a dying old man; out of the corner of her eye, she saw that his face had a deer in the headlights expression. He was facing the firing squad. She searched the crowd; there were at least a dozen, and some shadows suggested more. 

‘Oh shit.’

“So I really am turning into a vampire?” Simon sounded on the verge of hysteria.

“Oh yes.” It sounded amused. 

A young Hispanic man was at the head of the crowd. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, but Jo knew that couldn’t be possible. His attitude suggested someone much older. He was surprisingly delicate looking, with pouty lips and curly dark hair. His skin still managed to keep some of its tone from when he was alive, and now it enhanced his looks. With his open white shirt and dark pants, he seemed come straight out of an Anne Rice novel. 

Flanking him was a boy and girl; they looked a bit older, but she wasn’t sure by how much. The girl had delicate Asian features, but her hair was a vivid blue. She was calmly looking down on them. Beside her was an extremely tall blond boy. His grin was wide and excited. Jo could see his teeth had descended and he flashed them at her. Even more were behind them. A boy with dreads, a pretty redhead, and many more.

“Thing is,” the blond boy spoke up. “You wouldn’t have if you didn’t come back.” 

Laughter rang up, it was high and terrible. Jo gritted her teeth. She let her fingers brush a handle. Simon had switched on the flashlight; its bright orb wavered and trembled. He was shaking so hard that the lights’ beam went all over the place, and it briefly raced across the gathered faces there. They narrowed their eyes at the light, but laughed all the same when he tried to hit them.

“Then, how-why’d I come back?” Simon didn’t wait for an answer. “Please, just let us go!” 

Another round of laughing shook the banisters. Jo shivered; they might not notice anything else but the hammering of her heart…

“Of course not. You have trespassed onto our territory-for a second time. Clave Law states that we can do whatever we please with people who come willingly into our home.”

‘Clave Law?’ Jo thought back to her car ride in The Impala, getting a rundown from Sam. ’Is that the law of the Shadowhunters? Their government…thing? They actually make laws with these-things?!’ Jo remembered Jace’s angered words earlier that day- ‘The hotel! Of course, when Simon said they made it out ok, they were referring to this place. Jace said they barely made it out alive. So I guess nobody is coming to save our asses then.’ 

Simon turned to Jo, his face contorted with agonized grief. “I’m so sorry-” he choked. “You were just trying to look after me, and I got you involved.” he looked ready to pull out clumps of his hair.

Jo took his hands briefly. “It’s ok.” 

“He is right. You will die right alongside him.” the Hispanic vampire said. 

Jo grimaced. She let her breath hitch, as though she might cry. Some started to laugh once more. With just a fast flick of her wrist, she knew her aim was true; her knife sped forward and sank into the Hispanic vampire’s forehead, right between the eyes. The laughter abruptly stopped as the vampire went crossed-eyed and fell the floor.

“Raphael!” one of them shouted.

“Hurry!” shouted Jo.

She grabbed Simon’s arm and raced away from the vampires. 

“Which way?” she shouted.

“Ugh…” Simon strained to remember. He suddenly pointed. “That way!”

He pointed to another servant’s hallway. Vampires were racing behind them, almost close enough to overtake. Simon screamed. The blue haired girl had grabbed him and was holding him in an iron vice. Jo was yanked back by the handle of her messenger bag. She gasped at the unexpected lance of pain. Before anyone could react, Simon shined the flashlight in the eye of the vampire that was holding Jo back. She turned around and kicked out hard. Her boot connected with the vampire’s jaw. There was a small, but audible crick. The vampire stumbled back in surprise. He rubbed his jaw in disbelief, squinting wildly at them. Jo winced when she put her weight on her leg. The blue haired vampire snarled, almost too surprised to do anything other than stare, but Simon stared back in shock and Jo pulled him to the servants’ entryway. Blue hair recovered from her shock and threw herself at them. Simon screamed again and they stumbled into the hallway. It had a door, and they struggled to hold it shut as the vampire slammed herself into it. 

“Which way?” Jo cried. “Which way to the exit?”

Simon blinked hard, trying to overcome panic. He pointed to the right. Jo nodded.

“Okay, grab my gun out of my bag and hand it to me.” at his blank look she shouted. “Now!”

Simon jumped, and bent down, rummaging inside the bag. The door was slamming so hard, their teeth rattled and Simon nearly dropped the gun when he handed it to her. She talked and loaded it at the same time.

“You go first. I’ll buy you some time.” 

Simon nodded, and sprang away from the door. He began to move forward and Jo moved away from the door. When she let up, the door sprang wide open and knocked Jo off her feet. The Blue haired vampire came out first, grinning over her. Jo unlocked and shot. It didn’t make her do much but stumble back and Jo scrambled up off the floor. 

“That tickles.” Blue giggled. 

Jo shot her again, holes widened in the girl’s shirt. Jo all the while was quickly backing away. Shot after shot went into Blue, and behind her, more were appearing.

“That doesn’t seem to be doing much.”

Jo gave her a feral grin. “I know.” she shot Blue again.

Jo and Simon raced up the stairs. Jo was having difficulty because she was moving backwards, Simon suddenly grabbed her shoulders to steady her and she had to reload. He shouted in alarm when she stopped shooting. The vampires shot through fast and Jo’s rifle spilled out of her bag. Simon grabbed it, and with a terrified cry, swung it high in the air. It cracked down on the dreadlocked boy and Simon swung again, like a baseball player gone mad. The redheaded female made to stop him, but Jo had managed to reload. She shot Red, and blood spurted from her neck, bright as her hair.

“Bitch!” she shouted at Jo in a heavy Russian accent. 

Red pinned Jo to the stairs, and she gasped. Pain bloomed all along her back, and she saw spots as Red bent down, her teeth sharp. Jo’s arms flailed wildly, and she could hear Simon shout her name. Her hands found a knife and she grabbed the handle, sinking the blade into Red’s neck. Red hissed in irritation. Jo’s hands were slippery with blood and she drove the blade deeper into Red’s neck. Irritation and anger became pain, and Jo felt the tug and yank of an artery. Red shouted, and Jo struggled to cut her target. Rough firm hands gripped her, intent on pulling her apart. 

Jo’s vision began to blur as the hands gripped her flesh. She couldn’t tell if they were trying to strangle her or throw her off. A shot rang out. The hands slipped back. There was a surprised yelp. Jo found the strength to twist her knife a bit more, and suddenly there was no more resistance. She cut the artery and Red stumbled back, nearly collapsing onto another vampire. Jo twisted her head as she heard another shaky shot. Simon had picked up her shotgun and had managed to figure out how to shoot it. His aim was wild, but he didn’t let up, eyes wide. 

Jo gathered her things, stuffed what fell out of her bag and grabbed Simon. 

“Come on.” she rasped. 

A vampire blocked the exit, he had moved forward. It was the one they called Raphael. 

“That is far enough.” 

Simon made another horrified noise.

“Shoot!” Jo screamed. 

Raphael moved before he could, slamming Simon into a wall. The Blond vampire made a grab for him and punched him in the stomach. His noise of pain was like nothing she had ever heard. Lightning fast, Jo was pushed down the stairs, into the arms of waiting vampires. She screamed and kicked out, struggling. Her messenger bag tangled around her, nearly cutting off her windpipe. She could feel mouths on her and she screamed again. Stars were gathering up onto the ceiling. Her heart pounded, and she was being raised up-

‘Is this how I’m going to die? No…No! I refuse. I won’t die like this!’

She screamed, this time in anger. She twisted in time to see Simon struggle to stay upright. He launched himself at Raphael and Jo took that as her cue to jump. Pain vibrated through her feet and legs as she kicked out, connecting with flesh, faces, the walls. Her bag swung around, its contents flew again. A small piece of metal hit her in the face. The flask of holy water. Pale hands went for her knives. Blond grabbed one, the initials W.A.H flashed across her vision. She unscrewed the cap of the flask without thinking. Blond twirled the slender knife.

“Did you really think something like this could hurt us?” 

Red laughed; she was a little shaky on her feet, but still alive. Jo kept her eyes on them; Simon was held in a vice like grip by Raphael. He struggled weakly. Dark curls were brushing against his face. A cross dangled from Raphael’s neck, its light glinted against Simon’s cracked glasses. The shotgun lay abandoned at their feet. 

Jo gripped the flask tight and flicked her wrist. A long arc of holy water hit Blond and few closest to him. They shrieked in pain as their flesh bubbled and popped. Blond dropped the knife and Jo darted forward and grabbed it before it hit the ground. She flicked out more holy water and the crowd jumped back to avoid getting splashed. 

“Simon!” 

The boy stared at her, then at the cross at Raphael’s neck. They formed a wary circle around her, eyes flashing in hate. They watched her every movement as she shifted her stance. Jo gritted her teeth; Simon couldn’t do anything with no weapon and Raphael was faster and would kill him before Simon had a chance to defend himself. Jo glanced down, once at the floor. The bar of iron, the shotgun with the rock salt, a few shells filled with salt. A couple of her knives littered the ground. Vampires were eyeing them as if they wanted grab them. Some others seemed to wonder which weapons she’d go for.

‘As soon as I go for them, they attack. They’re too fast to dodge. I’ll get overpowered as soon as I grab something. Sure a few will go down if I can get em’, but someone else will just attack. They gang up and that’ll be it. I need a distraction. What I need is Simon.’

Jo sighed deeply. They edged forward, sure that was a sign of defeat. She tucked the knife away, moving her other hand slowly to let them know she still had her holy water. She must have dropped her hand gun in all the confusion. Jo couldn’t see it anywhere. A ripple went through the circle, and Jo felt their decision to attack rather than saw it. 

A loud cry made them turn their heads; Simon made a move. Jo dashed forward as Simon bit down hard on Raphael’s ear. His fingers brushed the shotgun as Jo’s grabbed the bar of iron. She ducked low as vamps surged forward to tackle her like linebackers. She kicked the shotgun forward and it descended into Simon’s hand like a blade of holy origin. He struck the muzzle of the gun at Raphael, it scraped at his chin and Simon struggled to fire. The muzzle was caught on the chain of Raphael’s cross necklace. 

He took the shot anyway. Simon was pushed back by the blast, finally freed from Raphael’s grip. The vampire stumbled back and Simon shouted as he raced up the stairs, with Jo following behind him. The screams and curses of the damned were right behind them. The stairs creaked underneath their feet, and those of their pursuers threatened to break them entirely. The two hurled themselves through a door frame and slammed the door shut behind them. 

“Hurry!” Jo screamed. “Find something to brace the door!”

Simon dropped the shotgun and bolted down the musty corridor and vanished into a room. The door was rattling and Jo pushed with all her might. It felt like her all teeth and bones might pop out, or that she would pass out-A heavy scraping came by and Jo was relieved to see Simon had come back. He was straining to push a dresser forward. It was huge and towered upwards. Jo wasn’t even sure how he managed to get it into the hall, and she could see his muscles strain to keep moving it.She twitched impatiently. If only she could get to him-

“Come on, you’re doing great!” she urged. 

He shoved hard and it was close enough that she grabbed a corner and pulled.

“This won’t hold for long.” Simon panted. 

“No. How’d you guys get outta here the last time anyway?” 

“Werewolves. Long story, but they came in through the windows and fought off the vampires. We ran up to the roof.”

“Wow-” she panted. “Crap. What’d you do before that? Can you remember?”

Simon shuddered. “I just remember what Clary told me after, and-”

The door rattled again. The thumping was more strained. It budged the two and the door and a white hand shout out. Simon yelled and the hand grabbed the collar of his shirt. Simon was quickly pulled into the doorknob, his face jammed between the crack between the door and the wall next to it. His screams got progressively louder as he groped for the shotgun. Jo reached forward, iron bar in hand as she struggled to pry Simon away. The metal was inches from Simon’s face, his eyes wide.

“Do it!” he shouted.

Jo stabbed the bar at the hand. Only surprise made it loosen its grip, and Simon managed to wrench away by the skin of his teeth. He leapt back before slamming his weight into the dresser. The owner of the hand yelled when the door slammed heavily onto his hand, and only his fingers remained in the cracks. The vampire still hung tenuously onto the door’s opening. Jo handed Simon the holy water and he poured it onto the fingers. A brief scream before the fingers wrenched themselves back, and together the two managed to shift the monstrous dresser in front of the door. It managed to block the door’s frame entirely. 

Simon wordlessly handed the holy water back to her. She capped it with a nod of thanks. Simon picked up the shotgun with shaky hands. He looked ready to slump down, but Jo shook her head and offered him her hand. 

“Iron.” he said. 

“Huh?” 

Simon was looking curiously at the shotgun; something glimmered on its barrel and Jo realized that it was the cross that Raphael had been wearing on his neck.

“Weird thing for a vampire to wear…” Simon mused. 

“Well it can’t hurt them.” Jo turned to look at the door.

“Yes it can.” 

Jo turned back to him in confusion. Her look was mirrored on his face. He peered at her strangely. 

“I saw the skin where Raphael was wearing it.” he continued. “There was a burn.”

“Ok.”

“Crosses, silver, blessed iron, running-”

“Wait, iron?” Jo asked, cutting him off. 

“If it’s been blessed, then yeah. Isabelle tol-” 

Jo snatched up the cross and used its chain to tie it around the bar of iron. Simon’s eyes widened. 

“What the hell.” she muttered.

“Wait, you’re going to bless the iron?”

Jo nodded quickly. She ran through a mental list of her Latin.

‘Crap, I really hope this works.’ 

She tied the necklace to the bar and began to chant rapidly. It was probably a little off, but it would have to do. To be safe, she uncapped the flask and poured holy water over it. There was only enough left in the flask for a single swallow.   
Simon was looking at her with wide eyes. She handed the bar of iron to him and he set the shotgun down and took it. Jo felt the sadness on her face; Simon would forever know what waited in the dark, and he stared up at her with big dark eyes. 

“I won’t let them hurt you.” she promised. 

“Thanks.” 

The door slammed and the two only paused to look at it.

“Run.”

Simon didn’t need to be told twice. They raced through. Rooms were open, almost like ones where the vampires slept; Jo could hear the wood of the dresser splinter impressively behind them. Jo picked up her pace, feeling her muscles burn. Simon suddenly turned and they were in some kind of parlor room, another old-fashioned glimpse into history. Simon didn’t stop and went into some circular little alcove covered with a curtain. Jo pressed close to him as he parted the velvet hangings, its soft fabric brushing against Jo’s face and making her shiver. 

Simon pointed down, and Jo peered over the edge. She could see the grand staircase entrance from where they first came in. It was directly below them; they were on the balcony. Jo gripped the railings tight. Gilt frame came off in her hand. It was too high to jump down, at least not without taking some serious damage, which would make it difficult to crawl back up the grate-

“I commend your tenacity.”

A pair of slight arms encircled her. Raphael pressed himself tight against her, and Jo shook with disgust. 

“But it was hopeless from the very beginning.”

She watched as more vampires came out of the curtain, rippling forward like some obscene nightmare as pale, horrible face stroked the velvet as they moved towards Raphael. Simon swung the bar and when one of them grabbed it, their hand burned. They cried out in anger. Simon wildly struck out, and one of the bolder vampires finally rushed forward, grabbing the bar and throwing it out of reach. He bleated in terror as they encircled him, and Jo could not move in Raphael’s grip.

“You son of a bitch!” she spat at him. 

Raphael only smiled. “It will be painless.” he nodded to the others. “You may have him.”

They cried out happily, drowning out Simon’s cries. Hands grappled for him, and he was being pressed together against cold bodies and she could no longer see him. They took him away. They, almost as one being, jumped off the balcony. 

“Simon!” 

Jo struggled anew; Simon’s screaming triggering fresh jolts of anger and terror. Raphael gripped her neck in a vice.

“Enough.” His voice was still soft. “You will watch this.”

The vampires had pounced, it was a flurry of movement and not being able to see Simon, but hear him so clearly made it even worse. He was going to die-

Jo slumped in Raphael’s arms, and she felt his grip relax. She could feel her eyes narrow as her surroundings got blurrier. 

‘Dad, what would you do? I…’

Her eyes dully registered the scene before her, the monsters sprawled on top of Simon is some sick dog pile, their satisfied grunting couldn’t possibly drowned out the awful sucking and slurping noises, or that Simon’s voice was getting higher and higher, enough to cause Jo’s ears pain. She let her gaze travel to the boards and tarp. It was all the way across the room from the balcony, and she remembered seeing them from the outside…

‘“They came in through the windows-” ’

Simon’s voice unexpectedly rang through her mind. It gave her an idea, and she slumped down, as if all her strength had finally ebbed. Raphael managed to hold onto her before she fell onto the carpet. Her fingers were shaking and she bent down her head, feeling her neck ache and her hair tangle next to her face. When she looked up, Raphael was staring at her. She tried not to whimper. He hoisted her up, and she tried to struggle, but she was ultimately pliant. 

“Now it is time for you.” 

As Raphael bent her forward, she realized she could no longer hear Simon. Raphael played with the strands of her hair, almost as if he were comparing them to his own. He admired them for a moment before gently brushing her hair away from her neck. She trembled when his lips pressed against her neck. His mouth was chilled and he was nuzzling into her. She kept her lips clamped firmly down as his nose brushed against her jaw line.

“Relax.”

His voice was intoned with something, and Jo shuddered. His fingers suddenly moved and fixed her jaw in place. He had just enough space to stroke her cheek with his thumb. He had made her lips purse with the tips of his fingers. She felt the holy water slosh in her mouth as he looked into her face. He pressed his lips against hers, and she shuddered from their coldness. She whimpered at his touch, but he was forcing her lips open. Jo leaned into him, and kissed back. She blew hard, the liquid moving like a river and flowed from one mouth into another. Raphael made a gurgled noise of surprise and pain as the water scorched his mouth. Raphael tried to resist, but Jo pressed harder, forcing her tongue inside, pushing the water back down and into his throat. He gagged loudly, unable to force the water back up. Jo coldly looked into his eyes as his own started to roll back up into his head-

Jo pushed him off, and he stumbled back and slumped over. She grabbed one of the velvet curtains, bunching it tighter in her hands as she put her feet over and on top of the railing. She wobbled precariously, but she kicked off and she was suddenly swinging through the air.

Jo felt like one of those superheroes, the velvet curtain billowing behind her like a cape. Of course, if she really was one, than she’d have way better super powers. The ground was coming in faster. Jo slid, her feet skimming over the carpet. She felt the impact before she realized it, and it made her shake all over. She felt her feet thump onto the ground as she let go of the curtain. Jo hit the ground running. It was still a few yards away.

The vampires must have heard her, but she didn’t think about it. She pumped her arms and legs like a marathon runner. Shouts and screams were behind her, and Jo clamped back her terror, willing the sounds to fade away. Her vision tunneled, leaving only the finish line to be seen. She could feel the blackness surrounding her, pressing against her body like a sheet. Only her heartbeat sounded in her ears, and she could no longer see the blackness. Fingers were brushing her, but she pressed forward, muscles screaming hysterically, and-

Her hands gripped tarp. Jo’s fingers slid frantically, slicked with sweat and she nearly cried out and then she remembered-  
Her knife. Somehow, her fingers were sure and steady as she pulled out her slim knife. She stabbed the tarp, feeling it give with every fiber of her being. She dragged the knife downward, and a rip appeared. She squinted; something bright was behind it, hard and sure. Jo tugged fervidly, like a kid unwrapping presents at Christmas and the tear was bigger and bigger until she used all her hands, every ounce of strength going into them. The tarp came loose, and it poured in, like beams from Heaven-

Sunlight.

She gasped; she had been in the dark so long that it hurt her eyes and she blindly slashed at the remaining tarp. Her feet connected with the boarded up windows. She ignored the screams as the wood gave and splintered, she picked up the felled boards and used them to wrench open the remaining ones.

She peered inside; now that her night vision had been ruined. Sounds rushed back to her, and she realized that the screaming was coming from the vampires; they had moved away from the windows, but the light wouldn’t leave anything unalleviated. It touched the carpets, stairs, banisters, furniture, and vampires. 

Jo stared in shock. The vampires were burning. Not, burst into flames type of burning. It was as if they were lit up from the inside, and red patches were blooming all over their bodies, skin bubbling over, popping like bacon over a stove. Their skin slicked with sweat, as if fevered. Some were starting to steam, as if they were boiling beneath the surface and some scratched at their skin. They were a bunch of screaming, writhing lobsters, unable to escape the boiling pot that was the sun. It was as if they were in too much pain to move far away.

Smoke rose out of their ears and mouths roiling and rising. The stench was unbearable. The redness was turning dark in some places, charring and drying along wet flayed skin. Parts of the skin that hadn’t been blackened were starting to slough off, blood bubbling, heated and unable to heal. 

Few were managing to limp or crawl away. Black skin crackled as they moved, making them moan in pain. It was hard to find a place that hadn’t been touched by the blood red sky. Jo looked down at her knife. W.A.H blazed like a ring of fire surrounding a blade that looked drenched in blood. Jo dashed back inside; Simon was clearly illuminated and completely motionless. 

The vampires scooted away from her as if she were a piece of the sun, broken off and moving into their home like a righteous band of fire. Jo could feel the sun on her back as she bent down to Simon. She winced when she felt the puckered, swelling holes where he had been bitten. Jo gasped; she felt a pulse. It was faint, but tenuous-

A scream made her look up. A vampire with a charred face made to move forward. His teeth gleaming white against the rest of him, eyes reddened and crazed. Jo tensed-

“Stop.”

The voice was thin and labored, but it was Raphael’s. Jo couldn’t see him, but he sounded as if he could barely stand himself. A banister groaned. She didn’t know what was going to happen next.

“Wait.”

Jo turned.

“Simon!”

Simon could barely lifted his head, and he gave her a weak smile and he looked in what Jo assumed was Raphael’s direction.

“Just-” Simon rasped.

He seemed to be sharing something with Raphael, looking into the blackness at something Jo couldn’t see, and a strange thrill went through her. It seemed to take an eternity.

“I see.” Raphael finally spoke. “Very well.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary was running; she was desperately searching for the other half. The ground beneath her feet was grassy and soft, and the countryside was so pretty that normally she’d stop to sketch it, but not today. 

Buildings rose, and Clary couldn’t tell if they were skyscrapers or something else. Her feet scraped across sand as she heard splashing. She blinked rapidly; her vision had seemed to waver suddenly, like a TV trying to get better reception, but it was over as soon as it came and she could see clearly again. 

She was standing on a beach, but there was a fountain-one she had dreamed of before. With the mermaid and when she danced there with Jace…and a figure was there as well. 

“Jace!” she shouted.

She knew at once that it was not him. She did not understand how she could have mistaken it for Jace. For one, it was taller and somehow much more beautiful. Something about how it rippled with power, and could take to the skies-  
It turned and it was her mother. Her hair was pulled away from her face, tied into a gentle bun at the nape. It was held together with pencils, just as Clary remembered it would be. She was wearing a white dress that Clary had never seen before, but it made her look slim and girlish. 

Clary cried out, feeling tears in her eyes. She raced to her, into Jocelyn’s outstretched arms. Clary felt them encircle her and finally found her home, but-

“Oh!” she pulled back suddenly. “Mom have you seen my-”

“There will be enough time for that later, darling.”

Clary mewled as her mother stroked her face. She just wanted to stay like this, and never go anywhere else. Clary felt another pang of something beneath it, almost like longing, but she had no idea what it was-or where it could be found. She just wanted her mother to hold onto until the feeling became bearable, to hold off leaving home-

“They are coming.” 

“What? Who-”

But Jocelyn had pulled out one of the pencils, and her hair tumbled down. The sky lit up each initial strand, thickening her hair and suddenly red, gold, blonde, brown, and black appeared. Clary blinked hard; she could have sworn she saw something behind her mother, something-

Jocelyn was holding her wrist steady and she pressed the pencil to Clary’s arm. She was drawing something, and Clary felt a tiny stab of contentment behind a larger swell of homesickness that competed with a yearning that Clary knew could drive her mad-

Clary looked at the burning on her arm, and feelings too strange flitted past, too fast to get a hold of and examine. She looked up. Her mother was gone, and she cried out, feeling the loss all over again, and she was cut off from everything she had a right to-  
The ground began to shake. Clary looked wildly around; the landscape changed drastically. The water was bubbling over, steam rising, and the water itself writhed as if something was waking up. Cracks were appearing in the ground, and wind began to blow, sucking air downwards. Clary screamed, trying to avoid falling into the abyss that appeared. The sky blazed, and she looked up. Streaks of heated lightening were falling through the sky, and Clary could have sworn she heard the clanging of swords.

Gravity yanked itself out from under her, and she fell. The chasm yawned beneath her and she screamed as she saw the sky unhinged itself from its moorings and begin to fall with her. The wind tore away her screams, but it couldn’t tear away the awful ringing, as if something-or someone was calling for her and she blindly reached for the voice-

“Clary!” 

She gasped, as through her lungs were still on fire. Clary saw her hand was still outstretched, groping blindly for what wasn’t there anymore. The sound, the nearly familiar-

“That ringing! I-its-”

“The doorbell.” came the dry reply.

Clary turned. It was Jace staring up at her, regarding her with gold eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her in sadness or confusion. Her dream was fading, and she nearly cried out again. Instead, she sat up, and avoid Jace’s stare; she was feeling heated again, and it competed with the roiling emotions that the dream stirred up. She felt too full, and she might burst with despair.

“Of course it’s the doorbell, what else would it be? That’s what woke me up…”

Jace gave her another long look, and she wanted to snap at him to cut it out. Instead she made for the door, and he quickly overtook her. 

“It’s my house, I’ll answer my door.”

Jace sounded too moody to be joking, but he still smiled. The ringing became more frantic, and the two hurried down. Jace hurried down the pew’s alleyway. The brightly lit candelabras burned at Clary’s eyes and she watched Jace’s back briefly flex as he pushed opened the doors. 

Clary stared. She ignored the twilight sky, the candles behind her, and the smell of incense. She completely ignored Jace. What she was looking at was too impossible to be happening. Awful sweaty, bloody, and torn-things. She felt her vision blur and tunnel. She gasped for air; her lungs were on fire, and there could be no comfort gained, even from her burned arm. Faces looked at her, but somehow looked monstrous; the one person she wanted to look at her was still and limp. She felt sick; her stomach full of horrible wiggling things, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a scream.

“Simon!”  
________________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	4. A lengthy explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, anything recognizable is something that I don’t own.   
> Warnings: Language for this one. Mild crack-don’t want to spoil anything by telling you why.  
> Word count: 38,948

The crowd was screaming, their voices rose into one giant frothing roar. It had to be forced into the background to be able to concentrate. Spectators didn’t bother to listen to the commentators that babbled to each other, clutching thick microphones. The only thing they cared about was the intense action happening below.

The two opponents faced each other on opposite sides, looking harassed and grim. They stared only at each other. Tension was thick and noticeable. The commentators picked up on that and began another round of talk. 

“Well, folks it’s getting right down to the wire!” the first one cried.

“I agree!” said the second. “With that last move, Sam Winchester has been put on the ropes.”

“He’s been playing well, but now the tables have been turned!” the first replied. 

Dean swiveled to face the commentators’ box. 

“Oh shut up!”

He turned back at the large field in between him and Sam. He rolled his eyes and made a face.

“Feel like giving up yet?!” he shouted at Sam.

Sam looked back at him, and took one long look at the field. Its shortened grass was bare in patches, with huge ruts and ditches made from heavy impact. He could see the panting of exertion clearly from where he stood. Sam drew another one and he looked down at it. The small red and white ball was heavy as a stone. He looked back up, staring at Dean.

“Not even close.” he threw the ball. “I choose you, Espeon!”

[PAUSE]  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Simon!” 

Clary screamed. She could see Jo grimace at the sound but she didn’t care. Jo was holding onto Simon, standing warily away from the vampire Raphael. She ran to them, ignoring Jace’s shouts. Clary raced to Jo’s side; the woman was struggling to hold Simon, who was slumped motionless and was half on the ground, half in Jo’s arms. Both were bleeding, although Simon more so. 

Clary felt the weakening in her legs, as she sunk down onto the ground. The two girls laid Simon gently on the ground; he barely stirred. His eyes were closed, pinched tight and his face was taunt and pale. Clary could see puckered, swelling holes on his body-his neck. She could see past the irritated, damaged flesh and could see the tiny black pinpricks, watched oozing…stuff. Her insides curled at the thought of blood being anywhere but inside Simon. 

She gagged, her throat making protest at the noise. She could hear Jo saying something, and blearily acknowledged that the other woman had pulled a knife. Jo had moved in front of her, but she could still see that Jo’s teeth were bared at the Vampire. She almost looked like one herself. She was speaking, but the words were blurred. Jace was replying angrily, but Clary couldn’t be sure at who. She glanced back at Simon, feeling another pain filled cry swirling in her throat. Her chest ached, longing to howl out its release. 

‘Oh, Simon I’m so sorry-’

“How can that be?!”

Clary wanted to ask that too, but Jo had beaten her to it. Clary pressed her forehead to Simon’s. She wished he would open his eyes one last time; to say something, even if it was the most inane thing she ever heard-

“Why did you kill him?” 

Clary didn’t know who asked it, or if she did herself, but it was now in the open. She clutched Simon tighter, and she thought she felt a twitch.

“He is not-”

Raphael was interrupted by the sound of a moan. Clary glanced down, and nearly screamed again. Simon had twitched, and he was alive. She shook him gently. If she could just get him to open his eyes, then everything would be okay and she would never leave him again-

“But he will.” Raphael spoke.

“No he won’t.” Jo intoned; her blade glinted in the candle light. 

Raphael looked wary, but made no movement. He looked oddly pale for a vampire, and Clary didn’t know why her mind picked out that detail. Raphael seemed tired, and his gracefulness was not present. Her eyes picked out Jo, who was still rigid and fierce. 

“Wait-” Clary blinked hard.

She wanted her clarity back, if only to save Simon. She owned him that and more.

“Your friends-the guys. Can you get them here?” Clary asked Jo. “Can they help Simon?”

“Clary.” Jace began.

“A phone. I need a phone.” Clary searched wildly for hers before remembering that it was in Jace’s room. 

“Clary-” Jace tried again.

“A phone!” she shrieked. 

Jace looked agonized, his face looking bleached of color and he tried to reach for her, but Clary pulled back from him. She ignored the spasm of hurt on his face. Simon needed her help, not Jace. Clary nearly snarled when Jace got too close and she turned to Jo.

“I-think it’s-” Jo looked suddenly lost, her free hand groping her pockets. 

Clary’s heart sank. She bit back sobs, feeling her teeth cutting into her lips. She clutched onto Simon, and she heard Jace speak again, slowly with his hands in the air, like he was surrendering. 

“Ok, I’ll get your phone, just-stay-” he regarded Jo and Raphael. “Don’t move. Do not do anything.” 

Clary didn’t concentrate on anything else. She dimly heard Jace retreating back, to get the phone. No one said anything, and Clary willed her spirit to Simon, trying to get him to open his eyes. She was aware that Jo was still next to her, and beneath it all a small part of her was grateful for the protection. Clary dimly wanted to ask what happened, how had this happened, and why wasn’t she doing the protecting. Simon was her-

“Here”

Clary started violently, and this time she did snarl at Jace. He dropped the phone, nearly springing away from Clary. She picked up the phone, but her hands were shaking too badly to dial. Besides, she didn’t even know their number. Wordlessly she handed it over to Jo. Not once taking her eyes off Raphael, she began to dial and was quickly speaking. Clary didn’t bother to listen as she stared hard at Raphael. 

“Explain this vampire.” Jace demanded. 

Clary could see he brought a seraph blade with him. She had no idea how it got there, and she was aware that Jo had probably never seen one before, but she had shut the phone already. 

“They’ll be here soon.”

Clary wanted to shout that soon wasn’t good enough, that Simon needed help now, but strangely it was Raphael who beat her to the punch. 

“He will be dead in moments.” his voice was calm despite everything. 

There was a screech of brakes and sudden running. Dean, Sam, and Cas had arrived. Clary stared in surprise; they had come sooner than expected and were armed. Jo didn’t look surprised, but Raphael raised an eyebrow. They pointed their guns at Raphael. 

“No he won’t” Jo replied. 

“Better get goin’ now.” Dean growled, and his smile was frightening. 

Raphael raised his hands. “I was merely giving him back to the Shadowhunters. I knew that he was an acquaintance of theirs, and by sparing him, I could spare myself.” he looked warily at the people who had encircled him. “Clearly I was mistaken.” 

“Wait-” Clary looked up. “How -”

“The only way to save your friend is to let him become one of us-a vampire.”

The response was immediate. Clary pressed herself against Simon, and felt her lips pull back. She longed for a weapon. 

“What about Cas?” Jo or Jace asked. “Can he fix Simon?”

“I cannot. I am no longer able to.” he sounded regretful. 

Clary nearly screamed again. She looked down at Simon again. He looked strangely youthful, and she shook herself; of course he looked youthful. He was. Is. She gritted her teeth. She drew a shaky breath. 

“Clary, I’m so sorry.” Jace looked down at her. 

Clary gasped so sharply, it a was a near scream; Jace was already saying to let go. Goodbye. Like it was no big deal that she would never see Simon smile, or laugh, play in his band, and buy his favorite videogames. He would never get to come over to Luke’s, or see a movie with her-

So many things that would never get to happen again. Clary couldn’t help howling, but she cut herself off. Her noises were reverberating off the walls, grotesque sounds being bounced back to her. Something deep inside her snapped, recoiling at the thought of a Simon-less world. This was something she could not, would not allow. 

“No.” she said it quietly. She didn’t know how she managed that. She looked up at Raphael. “Ok do it.”

Raphael looked warily as the others looked to and from each other. He looked at Clary, and she stared boldly back at him. He did this to Simon; he was going to fix it. Maybe that was why he nodded. 

“All right.”

“No Clary.” Jace bent down to her. “I know that he is important to you, but this-this isn’t-it won’t bring him back.” he struggled for words. “Sometimes-think about what-”

Clary looked up at him in renewed horror; what if she did let Simon become a vampire, would he be the next thing Jace would hunt? This was already too hard. Clary pulled Simon away from Jace, her mind swirling too fast to grasp anything. Suddenly walls closed in, with sharp mouths, ready to devour her and Simon. Clary felt all reason slip through her fingers, and she covered her body over Simon’s and something deep and frightening and roaring overtook her. 

“Leave us alone!” she shrieked, feeling her chest rattle. “I won’t let you!”

Jace leapt back from her again, looking horrorstruck and hurt. “Clary, do you really think I would-” he seemed unable to continue. 

Clary looked wildly around, not caring who heard her. “I don’t care what he comes back as, as long as he comes back.” 

She felt tears on her face, and they were splashing onto Simon’s, and she felt a new hardened resolve. He would open his eyes. 

“No one touches Simon-or Raphael-” Clary choked. “He’s gonna-”

“Ok, ok.” 

Jace was looking directly at her, palms up. He had put away his seraph blade and was looking right at her. He was moving slowly, speaking slowly. Clary felt momentary confusion as to why. Jace looked scared. She opened her mouth, frightened what might come out, but something deep inside told her to keep her hackles up. Clary felt strangely pleased that no one was able to get near Simon. 

“You will have to let go of Simon.” Raphael said. 

Clary whipped her head in his direction, letting her eyes narrow; he appeared unruffled.

“There are certain requirements, and they will not be met here.” he explained. “He needs to be taken to a cemetery.” 

The two hunter men look ready to voice something, but Jo silenced them with a look, and gave them some kind of meaningful conversation with a facial expression. Clary didn’t feel like examining that at the moment. 

“Fine. It has to be a Jewish one though.” she said. “He’d like that.” 

Raphael gave a nod. “Secondly, he needs blood.” 

“Not from a person.” Clary quickly replied. “Just find something else.” 

At that Raphael appeared chagrinned, but merely nodded. Jace gestured for the phone, and Jo tossed it to him. He dialed quickly, but Clary stopped listening and she turned away when he tried to catch her eye. Dean moved towards Clary, his hands still up.

“We’ve got towels in the car.” 

Clary stared at him.

“We’re driving. It’ll be a lot easier than carrying him and no one will ask anything.” 

Clary nodded. 

“Ok.” Dean turned to Sam and Cas. “It’s cool.” 

Dean bent down to Clary’s level, and put a hand on Simon’s arm. He gave her a brief smile, and Clary had to struggle with herself to relax her grip on Simon. She almost cried out when Dean scooped Simon up. He did it so easily, and Clary wondered briefly how many times he had done this before. Simon didn’t even cry out when Dean stood up, and Dean adjusted Simon in his arms, wincing a little. Clary stood up too, standing close. He nodded.

“We gotta hurry.” 

Clary nodded shakily. The two matched pace as they strode to the car. Raphael watched them all with an inscrutable expression. Clary rattled off the name and address of the cemetery that she knew Simon and his mom had been to before. 

She helped Dean adjust Simon into the backseat, and she scrambled in next to Simon, and Jo on the other side of him. Dean exchanged a surprised look with her, but said nothing. Sam clambered into the passenger’s seat. 

Dean pointed a finger at Raphael. “I ain’t takin’ you. You meet us there.”

Raphael shrugged. “Very well. Just hurry.”

Dean glared at him but said nothing. Cas stood next to Jace, and both seemed intent on keeping an eye on Raphael. Dean slammed the door and started the ignition. 

How do I get there?” 

Clary dully recited the directions, and they sped off. She looked down at Simon, cradling his head in her lap, and she stroked his hair. She marveled at its softness. She looked over to see Jo pressing a towel over one of the bites. 

“Can I have one?” she asked quietly. 

Jo handed her one. “Just apply pressure on whichever one you think needs it.”

The streetlamps illuminated the backseat in patches. It made Simon’s skin look garish, while hers looked like peaches. She shuddered. 

“What happened?” 

Surprisingly, it was Dean who asked that. Clary looked at Jo out of the corner of her eye, and a streetlamp suddenly lit Jo up like a spotlight. Somehow she had aged. Jo took a breath. 

“We were walking. We were going into a skuzzy neighborhood, but that didn’t freak him out until we stopped in front of a hotel.”

“The Dumort?” asked Clary, feeling her body become drenched in ice water sweat. 

“Yes.” Jo continued. “He freaked and I lost him. When I found him, he was going inside.” Clary gasped. “I think he thought he was going to turn into one; he told me what happened the last time he went in.”

“The last time?” Sam sounded appalled. 

“What were you thinking?” Dean asked angrily. 

Jo snapped back. “By the time I figured out what was happening, we had to fight our way out!” 

“Well you should have called us-instead of going into a full nest all by yourself! That is what happened right?!” 

“Yes! I’m sorry, but they weren’t going to call a time out so I could call for backup!” Jo turned to Clary. “I’m so sorry. I should have done a better job.”

“No its ok.” Clary shuddered again. “It sounded crazy in there-I just wish. I’m sorry, because I should have been protecting him better. He shouldn’t have needed it in the first place, he wouldn’t have gone to that place if I was paying better attention.” she got a better look at Jo. “You got hurt too, and I’m sorry. You were put in danger too; I know you’re a hunter and all, but…” 

“No, it’s ok.” 

Clary was starting to recognize the feeling of helplessness, and she hated its familiarity. How in the world was it bearable? She was simply unable to do anything but watch as those she cared about kept getting hurt. 

They pulled into the cemetery, gravel crunching and spitting as they made their way down the one lane road. Their headlights were the only ones visible. A figure was illuminated by them, and Clary could see that it was Raphael. Sam and Dean got out first, and Clary and Jo lifted Simon carefully. Clary scooted backwards out of her seat as Jo pushed Simon’s feet forwards. 

Clary could see Sam and Dean both look at the vampire with disgust. Raphael didn’t appear to notice. He gestured for them to follow him. 

“We have already picked out a spot for him.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
When they got there, Clary could see Jace, Cas, Magnus, and the Lightwood siblings were already there. Alec and Jace were both shoveling into the ground, their clothes already stained with dirt and sweat. Isabelle was gritting her teeth and Clary could tell even from her distance, that she was trying not to cry. Magnus stood beside her, his eyes watching Alec. Cas was scanning for them, and Clary saw that he never took his gaze off their own for a moment. His arms were full of what looked like bags of blood. Clary felt sick. 

Jace nodded in greeting. “We’re almost done.” 

Alec just panted with exertion as he tossed another shovel full of dirt onto the ground. Clary motioned to set Simon down, and she glanced around for another shovel. 

“Any problems?” someone asked, probably just to say something.

Isabelle looked at Raphael through narrowed, tear glazed eyes. “The Clave will hear about this.”

Raphael looked angered. “It is I who should be saying that to you. The Law states that anyone who trespasses on our territory is ours to do what we will with-”

At this, the hunters tensed, ready to draw their weapons. Jace leaned on his shovel, nothing moving except his eyes. Alec continued to shovel, but Isabelle had raised her wrist. Raphael looked furious now, but he continued speaking as if he wasn’t surrounded by angry people.

Raphael gestured to Jo. “She trespassed, and nearly killed us all!” 

“Not so fun when dinner fights back huh?” she taunted. 

Dean pulled her sharply by the arm, but Clary could have sworn she saw an almost parental spark of pride in his eyes. Clary was suddenly reminded of Luke, and felt a fierce ache for him to be near. 

“She is not a part of The Clave, she must be punished accordingly. After all, the Law is there for our safety as well-”

“Watch it.” growled Isabelle. “The only thing protecting your life at this moment is the Law.” 

Raphael’s eyes flashed. “I have a guarantee from your people. After all, it is the only way we can all live in harmony, correct?” he didn’t wait for a response. “However, I have no such treaties with mundanes, especially ones who know of the Shadow World. That is something which sparks my curiosity.” 

The hole was deep enough and Alec gestured for Clary to bring Simon down into it. Clary and Jo hoisted Simon up, and moved him. Jace stopped leaning on his shovel and reached for Simon from inside the hole. Clary was reluctant to give him over to anyone else, but she hesitated for only a moment. She watched carefully to see Jace be gentle with him, and Jo had to tug her gently back as Jace climbed out of the hole. She turned away from their concerned eyes.

Alec jumped out of the hole, and he moved away from Magnus when the warlock tried to put his arms around him. Isabelle gave a quick sad glance in their direction, but made for Clary.

“Are you sure that you want to do this? That Simon would want this for himself, because Clary, the life of a vampire is-”

“Yes!” shouted Clary. “I know he isn’t a precious Shadowhunter, but I’ll protect him! I won’t let him become a monster, he’s still Simon. No matter what.” 

She could see others looking at her in surprise, and Dean picked up Jace’s discarded shovel and began to fill the hole. With a shrug, Sam joined him. They exchanged another look as they piled the dirt on. They looked as confused as she felt.

“What’s all this for?” she asked Raphael. 

“For him to be properly risen as a vampire, he needs to be buried first.” 

Clary felt her dread build. “Then?” 

“He must dig himself out.”

“How? He was barely conscious?!” put in Jo.

“We shall see.” Raphael replied. 

When the ground was covered, Sam and Dean stepped back. They turned to Jo and began speaking. 

“Ok, what happened?” Dean asked her. 

Clary listened as Jo quietly gave a more specific retelling of what happened inside the Dumort. She flinched at the part where the two were trapped in the stairway. Clary wondered if anyone else was listening, or if Jo was too quiet. Clary honestly didn’t care, but she was confused why they were being so quiet. Jo had finished with the words:

“If it had been only a few hours later, then that sunlight trick wouldn’t have worked.”

“What I want to know is why it even worked at all. Sunlight isn’t supposed to hurt that much.” Dean said.

“Holy water worked on them too.” Jo replied. 

“Wait-that isn’t-” Sam cut himself off. 

Clary was confused. She stared ahead, but was straining to hear them.

‘They are hunters, so why would this confuse them? Even I know this stuff, or well some of it-’

“I know. Lore says that is all a bunch of crap, so why would it suddenly work?” Jo asked. “Or about this burial stuff? I have seen vampires turn.”

“Yeah.” Dean replied. “Hell, I remember when Gordon turned-it only took a few hours.”

Clary felt another chill go through her.

‘Gordon? Turning? Well, just what are they talking about, that doesn’t sound like vampires to me. Either they really are crazy, or they know something we-’

“Working theory,” Sam spoke up. “Either these aren’t vampires at all, or they are entirely new vampires.” 

“Ones’ that we haven’t even seen before?” Dean countered. “Why?” 

“The apocalypse maybe? Maybe it’s affecting the monsters…” Sam shrugged.

They continued to talk amongst themselves, but Clary had heard enough. She shivered, and a part of her did want to ask just what the hell they were talking about, but another part of her cautioned against it. They were speaking to themselves and it was obvious that it was for them only. Clary avoided looking directly at them or Jace for that matter. 

A sudden scraping made everyone tense. Only Raphael was calm and he stood closest to the makeshift grave. The sound was getting louder, until it became clear that it was nails pulling at dirt. Simon. Clary felt herself make some kind of sound and she hurried forward to help him get out. Raphael held her back with a one slender arm. 

“This is something he must do by himself.” 

Clary tried to push past Raphael, but he was a statute fixed firmly in place. The dirt on the topmost layer was shivering, and began to tumble down the pile. Clary peered anxiously over Raphael’s shoulder, shivering at his proximity. She jumped when she felt someone behind her. It was Jace. 

“Are you sure that you want to watch this?” his voice full of caution. “Simon…won’t be himself for a while.” 

“He’ll be fine.” Clary replied. “We’ll be fine.” she added, placing emphasis on ’we’ll’.

Clary turned to look at all those behind her. Faces full of sadness for her and Simon, and grim with the dark, some were looking inscrutable. Cas looking mournful, but with a touch of something else, both Sam and Dean looked as though they understood, and Jo looking pained. Isabelle was grasping Alec’s hand tightly. Magnus looking on seemingly detached. Jace was staring straight at her. She felt her insides quiver, but she looked past him. These people were in pain, had known pain, but somehow dealt with it. Envy briefly flared inside her; how did they handle it all? She tried to meet all their gazes. This was important, and she wanted to be strong. To prove that she could be too and stand next to them.

“Yes.” she felt her teeth clench. “I want to watch.” 

She turned back, unable to continue looking at them all. Fingers were immerging, cracked with dirt and crusted with dried blood. They wiggled in the air, like a horrific parody of a greeting. Slender wrists came next, and they were so dirty, it was hard to see any of the skin they covered. They struggled upwards, and Clary was reminded of a flower stalk pushing up from a crack in a sidewalk. Arms burst out, flailing wildly. 

It was like a bad monster movie, black and white creatures that attacked bad acting, screaming women. Clary shuddered, rubbing her arms frantically; this was not television, and the monster was Simon. There was no one to walk out of the theater when it finished, no one to laugh with afterwards. 

The upturned earth was heaving, as though it were alive and taking huge gulps of air. Strange snarling and snuffling was muffled beneath it, and then it picked up pace and began to get more frantic. It was starting to cry out, a helpless sound. Clary was oddly reminded of babies, and hearing the sound with what she was seeing was beginning to terrify her. 

Raphael suddenly moved away from Clary, and moved to Cas. The latter tensed when the former came forward. Cas looked ready to bare his teeth at Raphael, but the vampire didn’t remark on it. He merely opened his hands. 

“The blood.” 

Cas seemed to ripple with tension, and he wordlessly handed the bags over to Raphael. Clary could have sworn his arms were shaking. Cas didn’t unwind from his stiffened pose until Raphael was a good distance away. He ignored the odd looks he was getting from the three hunters. 

Clary watched Simon struggle to free himself from his grave, stumbling out of it. He gave a growling whine as he fell back into the hole, and Clary longed to reach in and pull him out. She edged closer to the hole, watching Simon wriggle and stumble inside. He seemed unable to stand properly. Maybe they were like newborn horses; they struggled to stand for the first time in their lives. Clary poked her head farther into the hole. She had seen, out of the corner of her eye, Raphael tear one of the blood packets open. 

At the sound, Simon lifted his head up. His eyes met Clary’s. They were round, and without his glasses, they looked big and vulnerable. They were the same dark color as always, but now it was more apparent that they had color. They were familiar, and Clary nearly cried with relief; Simon was alive, and could look at her again. But there was something…off about them. He never gave her such a look. Childlike curiosity, but something hungry and feral…

“Simon?”

He perked up at his name, and his fingers flexed. His look was so intense, but very helpless. He opened his mouth wide, and gave another screeching, plaintive cry. Clary could see his new teeth gleaming white. He bared them and growled in a pained frustration. 

“He is hungry.” 

Raphael’s voice made her jump, and she could see Simon watching her every move. Clary felt a thrill of fear jolt her system, before she was overcome with guilt. She reached for the open packet, and saw that Raphael was too surprised to react, and she grabbed it from him, ignoring his protests. She just wished everyone would shut up already.

She turned back to Simon. His cries had been getting progressively louder, and now they had become unbearable. He was scrambling and screeching; she wondered if he could smell the blood, and not being able to find it was what was causing his wild movements. 

“Simon.” she called softly.

He looked up, fast enough that his neck must have cricked in complaint. He stared back at her, and she was unnerved by what she saw. She lifted up the packet of blood, and watched him follow it with his eyes. She shook it once. The liquid sloshed and Clary felt the bile rise in her stomach, but Simon hopped a little. Clary had another twisted thought: Simon was like a puppy waiting to be fed. She couldn’t help the hysterical giggling as she waved the bag at him.

“Here. Come here…good Simon.” her crooning just made her giggle harder. 

Simon sprang out of the hole and scrabbled onto the dirt piled next to it. Clary had to stop a scream from coming out of her mouth; she hadn’t anticipated his speed, or sudden focus. He leapt on top of her, and she thrust the blood packet at him. He did not grab it from her with his hands, but rather his mouth. She clamped her mouth shut, her scream locked tight inside. Simon was scraping at the bag with his teeth.

“No no, use your hands.” she tried to pry it away from him. “Like this, see.” 

Simon made another strange noise and Clary nearly wailed. Her fingers fumbled with the bag, and Simon struggled to get it back. She almost screamed at him, but she managed to pull the bag open, and blood sloshed onto her shaking hands and wrists. Clary choked her throat convulsing as Simon leapt at it. His didn’t use his hands to steady it, but tried to dive his whole head into the small bag. Clary tried not to push him away as she felt his teeth brush against her skin when he struggled to break open the bag. She tried as best she could, to tip the liquid into his open cavernous mouth. He quickly drained it all and screamed for more.

“Hang on.”

She flinched when she felt his tongue rasp over her bloodied hands and wrists. Any other time and she would have laughed, but now she had to prevent her entire body from leaping away from him. He whined piteously as she hurriedly tried to grab another blood bag. She felt a sharp stab of pain in her arm. Simon had stopped snuffling about her, and bit her instead. 

Clary shrieked, and suddenly she was in the air. She landed with a thump at the feet of the others. She felt their hands trying to assess damage, but she ignored them, instead looking over at where she used to be. Raphael had tossed her out of the way and was feeding Simon himself. He was actually crooning to Simon, and it could have been mocking, but there was something about his expression that she found alarming. 

“Not so fast, drink up little fledgling.”

“Fledgling?” 

Surprisingly, it was Cas who asked that and it was spoken in a disgusted tone. As if he found the term itself particularly offensive.

“Yes.” answered Raphael. “That is what we call those who have just been reborn.” 

It was a poor choice of words. Clary felt the ripple of disgust through the group. She didn’t blame them. Fledglings are supposed to be cute, fluffy baby birds. Not young vampires writhing in the dirt, begging for blood. She felt her stomach clench and she willed herself not to throw up. Clary felt her body convulse and flame with shame, and she couldn’t hold back her sob. 

Clary made no move to get up; the ground was cool beneath her heated body. She wanted to flinch away from everyone, make them disappear. She didn’t want their comfort or deserve it. The breeze suddenly blew through making her shiver, and it almost felt good, and she was reminded of the fact that this was a cemetery and a perfect place to curl up. Someone pressed a hand on her back; she didn’t know who, or care. She just pressed her face into dirt and wished the nightmare would end. 

________________________________________________________________________  
As Clary walked the halls of the sterilized linoleum, she felt her dread grow. She felt like she was about to walk into a confessional. Not that she had ever been in one, but she’d seen enough TV, and read enough books to get the gist. She shook her head to clear it; she was just visiting her mother, nothing more. Ever since the fight at Renwick’s, her mother Jocelyn had been here. It was a pretty decent hospital, with a competent staff, and the only downside was that they had horrible coffee. 

She made her way past the front desk, and the café. Clary knew the route to her mother’s room by heart. It was a grey room, and when she entered, she’d shut the door behind her. It was still the same, with its fading colors, and beeping machines. The only thing that had any vibrancy was her mother’s red hair, but even that seemed to be fading. Her mother never opened her eyes when Clary came to see her. She looked so calm, and it was unlike her. Not that Jocelyn was never a calm person, but she always had an energy about her, something that made her seem alive and real. 

Now she was quiet and still, looked pale, somehow less than what she was and Clary wondered if it was because of the spell she was under, or it was just her imagination. She grabbed one of the chairs, letting its legs scrape on the linoleum tiles. It didn’t do anything except hurt Clary’s ears, and she sat down. 

Nervous, Clary took a shaky breath. This felt important, and she had to get it right. She set her fingers next to her mother’s, letting their fingertips nervously brush together. Clary clasped her hands around her mother’s, and she shivered; Jocelyn’s hand was cold, despite having a steady pulse beneath her skin. Clary rubbed it briefly to try and warm it up, and she began.

“Hey it’s me, but maybe you knew that. I don’t know. They say you can hear things, and that it helps. I wish you could talk back, and then this wouldn’t feel so stupid. I know Luke talks to you, and it seems to help him. I wonder what it is he talks to you about, or what. I dunno what there is to say. I guess now would be a good time to tell you…”

Clary took a breath.

“I met someone. Or, well, lots of someone‘s. Shadowhunters. I know. I know all about what you had been trying to hide from me. I met Magnus Bane; he’s a surprise isn’t he? I wonder how it is you met him, or just how you knew everyone. Like Valentine; how in the world you ended up marrying him. What was your life like? Not just with him, but the whole time, all those years when I wasn’t even born. There is so much you haven’t told me, didn’t share with me. Those someone’s? Well they did. Alec, Isabelle, and Jace. If it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t even be alive. They helped me so much.”

Clary squeezed Jocelyn’s hand, and continued. 

“And Simon too. He never left my side, even when he should have. I almost left him behind, but he still got caught up in this mess. He’s…he’s not the same anymore. He got turned into a vampire. It was the only way to save his life. It was so close, if Jo hadn’t been there-”

Clary laughed nervously. She could no longer tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing that her mother couldn’t reply.

“She is a hunter, a mundane that knows about the Shadow World. She has two friends, or well partners, I think. A pair of brothers named Sam and Dean. They’re a little bit older than us, but good guys. I don’t know how they know all this stuff, but apparently there are mundanes-or hunters, really who know what Shadowhunters know-for the most part-and fight them. Did you ever know this? I wonder if you would have been as surprised as the others.”

Clary gritted her teeth.

“Anyway, if it weren’t for Jo, Simon would have died. I hope he can ever forgive me for what I’ve done to him. I’m a bad friend, and even worse sister. I have family. Valentine is the man who fathered me, and raised Jace-my brother. Why didn’t you tell me about them?!”

She struggled to get her voice under control.

“I wish I knew-met them in a totally different way, and then maybe-anyway. I guess it doesn’t matter. They saved me. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be dead. Still could be. Oh mom! Valentine is still after us, and there isn’t much we can do. He is planning something horrible, and he has the Mortal Instruments! He has already done so many bad things, and I don’t know what I can do-”

Clary bowed her head, letting their hands touch her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“The only thing I can do is find a way to wake you up. So please-just hold on for a bit longer.”

A sudden knocking made Clary jump as if her chair had been electrocuted. She turned to see Luke, one hand carrying two cups of coffee that he had stacked together and with the other, he was opening the door.

She wanted to be mad at him for interrupting, but she didn’t know what else there was to be said. Clary wondered how long he had been there and whether he had been waiting for her to finish. She felt a sudden rush of affection for him. Luke was dependable, and he’d always stay the same. He was wearing his usual outfit. The worn jeans and flannel, now with a heavier jacket over them. His huge workman boots clomped over the tiles. He handed her one of the cups before pulling up a chair himself. Luke ran a hand through his graying hair.

“When did you get here?” Clary asked him.

“Not long.” 

They didn’t say much, but Clary didn’t care. They didn’t have to. It was only until much later that Luke got up, kissing her on the top of her head.

“It’s going to be alright.” 

Clary stood up to follow him, and squeezed her mother’s hand.

“See you later.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
Jo pulled change out of her pocket and fed the machine. She quickly dialed, and didn’t have to wait long to hear a voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey mom.”

“Joanna Beth Harvelle, we agreed that you’d call in sooner than this-”

“I know, but I lost my phone on a job.”

“A job? I thought you were already on one with the boys-”

“I am, but I got sidetracked. Look, I’m on a payphone, so I can only give you a brief rundown till I get a new phone.”

“I’m listening.” 

“We got the colt. We might have a lead on the devil, but there is nothing definite. We met some people, and this’ll be hard to believe-but they call themselves Shadowhunters, and they aren’t hunters but something different.”

“You’re gonna have to explain this one to me.”

“Yeah. Haven’t ever come across em’ before, and they were surprised to learn about hunters, which sounds like even though we pretty much do the same thing, they don’t run in the same circles as we do.”

“What does this have to do with the colt or the devil?”

“We don’t know yet, but Cas thinks something’s up. Mom, even he’s confused.”

“I can be there in about a day-”

“Oh, Mom don’t. It’s okay, even with the vampires-”

“…Vampires? Jo-”

“Mom, it’s okay, Dean already reamed my ass about that. I’m sure he can tell you all about it-”

“Oh he will.”

“Mom. Seriously, it’ll be okay. I’ll tell you when we’ve got something to go on.”

“You better. I’ll see you when you do, believe me.”

“I know. I’ll see you later.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
It wasn’t long, almost a day afterwards that a call for the Institute came in around the same time that the police scanner the Winchesters owned had started with an odd message. It was shockingly similar. Mundane police were baffled, and it was suspicious enough that it registered to the Lightwoods’ at the same time. The Pandemonium Club was having some kind of trouble; no one was sure what was going on. 

“Oh-my God!” the voice on the radio crackled to life, static hissing.

“What is it? What seems to be the problem?” the calmer dispatcher asked.

“I-I’m not even sure but, its just-just bring all the squad cars!” 

“Alright. Just sit tight.”

It wasn’t long after that one of the bouncers, who happened to be a Downworlder, had called the Institute, with a similar attitude. His baffled replies to Mayrse Lightwoods’ queries put her on edge.

“Can you at least describe what is happening?”

“…I’m not sure. I thought it was just a bunch of kids doing something crazy, but I’ve been hearing rumors about what’s been happening-”

“Alright alright. Someone will be there shortly. Just keep the mundanes occupied.”

“Er…yes.”

Which is how it came to be that Sam, Dean, Cas, Alec, and Isabelle hurried as fast as they could to one of the most popular Downworlder haunts. The Impala parked a ways away, and they strode quickly to the figures that were becoming familiar. The Lightwoods didn’t look as surprised to see the Winchesters and Castiel this time around. 

“You got here fast.” Isabelle remarked.

“Police scanner.” Dean replied. 

“So this must be more serious than we thought.” Alec mused.

“What do they know about this place?” asked Sam.

“They think it’s just a teen club, but really it’s a place where Downworlders mingle with mundanes, some of whom get a little too close to the Shadow World for their own good.” Alec explained.

“Think that’s what happened?” Dean asked. 

“Guess we’ll find out.” Isabelle remarked. A crowd was forming, but there didn’t seem to be any police officers. It just seemed like any other night with rowdy, confused teenagers. Isabelle grabbed at their sleeves and headed down to a side entrance. A large burly man was leaning against a wall-he looked annoyed, but there was something about his posture that said he was on edge. 

“I’m not sure if this is just some sick joke or what but there are those things inside.” he spoke when they approached. 

“What things?” Alec asked.

The bouncer grimaced. “Mannequins, I think. They looked so real…just please tell me they’re fake. I don’t need this.” 

“Ok, we’ll see what’s what.” 

With Isabelle leading the way, they managed to push past the crowd. Dean had to squeeze past a group of boys wearing what looked like cellophane dresses and a girl with blue hair gave Alec a flirty smile. Inside the club was just as crowded, and the music and lights still pulsed. Dancers didn’t seem to mind the oddly placed bodies. They were various creatures. Wolf-men, and Bela Lugosi-esque vampires, mummies and even faeries. Each one was obviously dead, their bodies splayed in odd positions, some in obvious comedic poses.

The only thing that really seemed disturbing was just how realistic the bodies looked, and some did actually look as though they had encountered something horrible before they died. Some people did look alarmed, and few screams showed their fear. One girl with purple skin was staring at a dead faerie body with a look of frightened disgust. A tall, biker looking boy was twirling the Bela Lugosi vampire body in time to the beat. He growled and playfully gnawed on the neck. The dark skinned girl next to him hit him on the arm.

“Bat, that’s nasty. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” 

Dean turned to look at the rest of their group. He could see the annoyance on .Alec’s face, and he looked more affronted that his sister. He looked ready to give a sharp comment when Isabelle clinically inspected a body that had antlers growing out of its head. She poked it with one finger, and jumped when blue sparks fizzed out. She turned to look back at them.

“Well I seriously doubt Valentine is behind this.” 

Alec fixed her with an acerbic look. “Obviously. I’ll go tell them there’s nothing to worry about.”

“No need, I’ll do it.”

Isabelle turned and began to take off, but Alec grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“This will take forever to clean up.”

Isabelle shrugged. “Your fault for saying we should check this out.”

“Well, I am the oldest. This will be a learning experience for you.”

Isabelle snorted. “What do you call this?”

“Character building.”

“I’ll flip you for it.” Isabelle was already reaching for a coin. “Heads or tails?”

Dean and Sam watched with amusement as Alec called the coin as if shimmered in the air. Isabelle slapped it on her palm, and made a face. 

“See, the oldest wins every time.” 

Isabelle glared at Alec as he walked away to find the bouncers. Sam gave her a sympathetic grimace. 

“We’ll give the place the once over, just in case.” he said.

“Knock yourself out.” 

Sam and Dean began to spread out as Isabelle walked over to one of the pretend corpses and corralled Cas into holding a mummy body for her. Dancers swayed to the beat, and Dean looked up to see that the DJ hadn’t even bothered to look at the scene below him, his eyes closed as he bobbed his head to the music. Dean shrugged, and scanned the crowd. He could spot Sam, who easily stuck out from the rest with his jacket that was the only plain color in the pack. His brother was scanning, and he quickly caught Dean’s eye and pointed in the direction of a small corridor in the back.

Together they made their way through the small entryway. It was lighted normally, and the ground was dirty from litter and shoe prints. There was a small doorway, the plaque rusted over, but the letters were still visible.

Employees Only

Dean gave the door knob an experimental tug. It gave easily, and he peered in. The ground was strewn with cable wire and trash. Cans of spray paint littered the ground, used already and thrown directly below the hastily scrawled graffiti. The room was small and it looked as if it hadn’t seen any employees in a long time. Nothing really stood out from the room, and he carefully avoided the wires on the ground.

“Dean.”

Dean turned and saw his brother straighten back up; he was holding some trash in his hand, and he held it up for Dean to see. Candy wrappers. 

“So unless Valentine has a sweet tooth-” Dean started.

“We’re dealing with the Trickster.” Sam finished. 

Dean grimaced. “How much you wanna bet it’s the Trickster? I’ve been waiting a long time to get my hands on that son of ‘a bitch.” 

Sam dropped the wrappers. “Hang on. What if we asked for his help?” he ignored. Dean’s incredulous stare. “Come, he’s one of the strongest creatures we’ve ever faced.”

“Exactly why that’s a bad idea.” Dean rebuffed.

Sam seemed to consider this. “Ok, well lets’ just ask anyway, and we’ll kill him if we have to.” 

“I like that option. What’s with you and monsters?” he shook his head.

Dean ignored Sam’s dark look and followed his brother to the door. They walked back down the hall, and Dean vaguely noted that the music had changed. He frowned; they had stakes in the trunk, but he hadn’t thought to-

A sudden roaring of an engine blazing past made Dean leapt back on instinct. The sound he heard wasn’t music, but the cheering of a crowd. Stands jammed packed with people, their faces excited and some were jumping in their seats. Dean reached for his gun, but nothing was coming at him. He began to take in his surroundings. 

It was a race track. Cars sped past, but something was wrong with them. They looked too…ridiculous. Everything looked strange; not the things themselves but their placement. Dean whirled; Sam should have said something by now-

“Sam?” he called. His brother was nowhere to be seen. “Sam?!” he shouted.

“Dean, over here!” 

Dean turned to face the track. He could see the Impala; how he could have missed it beforehand was ridiculous, but maybe it wasn’t there before. He couldn’t see Sam in either the passenger or driver’s seat, but he ran to his car all the same. A part of him must have thought Sam was inside because he climbed in and twisted around to see the backseat. No one was there.

“Dammit Sammy, where are you?” he muttered.

“Right here.”

Dean shouted, jumping. He twisted back in his seat. There was no one there. Dean could still feel himself tense, but he tried not to show it. 

“Ok, where is here?”

“I’m right-” there was a pause. “Ah crap.” 

Dean’s mind took a step back and put the two together. He was in the Impala and Sam sounded as if he was right next to him, but it was like talking to the air-and getting a response. He looked to see if the car itself was any different. Not really, but his gaze wandered to the radio’s AM/FM tuning frequency.

“The Trickster.” Sam groaned. 

The radio’s needle jumped, and Dean started. It all clicked into place. Sam was the Impala. He slapped the steering wheel.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted.

“…Ow.” 

“Er…Sorry.” Dean looked down at the radio. “Any theories?”

“NASCAR?” 

Dean glanced around, seeing pit crews and uniformed men racing around. Cars were pulling up. They were beginning to surround the Impala, and if Sam was still a person, he might have backed away. The cars were not sleek or streamlined, nor did they have any brand names painted on their bodies. They were tiny and compact, and downright goofy. 

One pulled up next to them, and its driver was a man…creature with brightly colored armor, and he gave Dean a wicked grin from his steering wheel. On the other side of them, a blond woman wearing a frilly pink dressed had pulled up next to them. She waved to the driver that had driven up beside her, and Dean could see it was a large green lizard. 

“Really f’ed up NASCAR.” Dean replied, staring. “Hang on, is this-”

“Boys!”

A voice shouted, and Dean narrowed his eyes after his momentary surprise. The Trickster was waving to them, and he was walking towards them. The other drivers waved to him and called out greetings, and he yelled cheerfully back to them. 

“Princess Peach!” he whistled. “Lookin good!” 

The blonde woman giggled and blushed. Dean just stared. The Trickster smirked at him, and Dean barely suppressed the urge to hit the gas and run him over. The other man was walking to them, and when he got close, he ran one hand over the Impala, and he cocked his head to get a good look at the rest of the car. Dean kept his eyes on the Trickster; he didn’t want him touching the Impala like that, and felt possessiveness and he struggled to reach for his gun. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could have sworn he saw the radio needle bounce. The trickster smiled as if he knew what Dean was thinking. He whistled again. 

“Wow, Sam. Check out the rims on you.” 

For some reason, if Sam could have blushed he would have. He was oddly mortified, and his reply was harsher than usual.

“Oh eat me.”

The Trickster’s eyes flashed with something, but before he could respond, Dean spoke.

“Change him back.” Dean growled. 

The trickster screwed up his face in mock thought. “Hmmm. No.”

Dean actually growled in response. The trickster didn’t seem bothered at all, and he leaned on the Impala, peering at Dean.

“What’ll you do if I don’t? Shove something pointy in my face?” he drawled.

“We could use your help.” Sam spoke up. “Please.”

The trickster didn’t seem as surprised as Sam thought he would be, and Sam took the man’s silence as a means to continue. 

“Like it or not, you’re one of the strongest things we’ve ever faced.” he sounded as he was admitting to an embarrassing secret.

The trickster made a face as if he was just realizing something. “Oh, so I’m supposed to do something for you.” 

Sam sighed, the reply was sarcastic and a little bit of something he wasn’t able to identify. Dean snapped at the trickster.

“Look, you probably already know that the world-”

“Is gonna go boom?” The trickster raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, which is totally your fault by the way.” 

Sam knew Dean was about to shout, so he quickly intervened. 

“We know. Which is why we’re trying to stop it. We-”

Dean snorted; he let them both know just how much he thought of that.

Sam huffed impatiently. “Alright fine, I thought you wouldn’t want to see this world end and you could help us out.” 

The trickster was looking at them with an expression that could have been inscrutable, but he seemed as if he was considering it, and Sam could have sworn he saw the man’s expression darken before it was quickly smoothed over. Dean was glaring at him, intently waiting for a response and Sam knew if he wasn’t car, he would be staring just as intently. There was something about the trickster’s expression that, while not malicious or cunning, there was something dark and maybe-and then it was gone and Sam nearly cried out in frustration; he wanted to know what that was. The trickster heaved a theatrical sigh, and if Sam had eyes he would have rolled them. 

“Well, if you insist-” he held up a hand. “First, you have to play the game, and then we’ll talk.” 

“Game?” Dean looked incredulous. 

“Yup.” 

“What game?” Sam asked. 

“The one that’s about to start.” 

There was a loud beep, and Dean looked up. A large box was held up; it had three colors, the red light flared briefly before it died out and the light moved down to the next colored ball. The second light blazed yellow and another beep followed. The engines of the cars flared to life, and Dean quickly turned back to the Trickster. 

“What game?” he shouted as Sam called out. “How do we play?”

“You’ll see. All ya gotta do is survive.” he smile became teasing.

The last beep began as the light changed to green and a loud blare, like a fog horn went off. The cars sped off, moving around the trickster and the Impala. Cheers rose up from the stands. Dean looked wildly at the sudden movement and noise, and he glanced back to see the trickster raising an eyebrow in time with his smirk. 

“Better hurry.”

Dean looked at him, then to the track, with the cars that were quickly getting smaller and smaller.

“Son of a bitch!” He rasped hastily.

He rapidly put the Impala into gear and slammed onto the pedal. The Impala roared to life, and raced down the pavement. Dean didn’t bother to look back; he knew the trickster would be long gone. 

“Game my ass!” he shouted. “Next time, just gank the monster. How bout that?” he snapped.

“Oh, just go faster!” Sam yelled. 

Dean pressed harder on the gas, and the resulting vroom was deafening. The track looked empty, but the small silhouettes of other cars were fast approaching. The flat line meant they were catching up to the other drivers quickly. Soon they were next to a large ape man, who gave them a wave as he attempted to pass them. The road was beginning to curve. 

“Dean turn!” Sam shouted.

Dean grunted with the effort as he gripped the steering wheel tight. The wheel was shuddering with effort, and Sam sounded as if he was gritting his teeth. Suddenly they were surrounded by cars on the turn. They were packed tight in between the other racers and being jostled roughly.

“Just try not to-” Sam strained to speak. 

“I know.” Dean sounded just as strained. 

Dean yelled as he was getting bumped from all sides, and he tried to ignore Sam’s irritated groaning as he slammed into other cars in retaliation. The pressure was letting up as the road began to straighten again, and the driver with the colored armor bumped hard into the car next to him. Armor man laughed as the other car careened into two others, sending the three cars spinning out of control and slamming into the guard rail. They tumbled and flipped before slowing down in a grassy lane away from the road. The road was finally straight, and Dean gunned the engine further. 

“Pass him.” Sam suddenly directed.

Dean knew he meant. “Pass the guy who just took out three drivers?” 

“Yeah. We’ll have to some time.” 

“Fair enough.”

Dean pedaled hard, suddenly shifting gear and they sped on. They were nose to nose with Armor, and could see him in detail. He was ugly and he grinned meanly at Dean, and Sam gasped. The man grinned, letting his engine gun with extra power, and Dean did the same, grinning at the challenge. 

“Show off.” Sam muttered. 

The man suddenly sped up, and instead of hitting the Impala, he rammed the lizard driver ahead of them. The lizard man gave an oddly shrill cry of protest as he began to get pinned against the wall. Dean swerved to avoid the struggle and yelled when a tire suddenly flew past. 

“Holy crap!”

“Now’s our chance, keep going!” Sam shouted. “Pass Em!” 

Dean shot forward; he could see the destruction of the lizard man’s car and grimaced. 

“Some game.” 

“Game.” Sam repeated. “Game!” he shouted suddenly.

Dean jerked the steering wheel in surprise and had to serve, narrowly missing a man wearing red overalls; he shouted and gave Dean a rude gesture as he passed them. 

“Gee, thanks for telling me.” Dean deadpanned. “I couldn’t figure it out.”

“No really.” Sam insisted. “It’s a game. An actual game.”

Dean blinked. “Wait, like a videogame?” 

“Yeah.” Sam was enthusiastic now. “Those guys we passed? Bowser and Yoshi.” 

Dean repeated the names. “Why does that sound familiar?” 

“You might have played this game before-”

“What did he call that one chick? Princess Peach?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dean passed the man in red, and braced for the turn. 

“I don’t really care what it’s called, but have you played it?” Dean asked. 

“Once. Ok, if I’m remembering right, you could choose how many laps you get. There’s the basic three, then five, and then nine? Point is, it just keeps going up and up.”

Dean groaned. “Please be three.” 

“If it is, then we’ve only got one left.” 

“You should have said that sooner!” 

Dean began to jostle the other cars for an opening. He moved forward, finding an open spot before suddenly slamming backwards into the ape man’s car. Ape man roared as he spun out of control and his car finally landed upside down in the grass. 

“Did you see that!?” Dean cheerfully yelled.

“Show off.” 

Dean laughed and sped forward, swerving erratically to avoid the other cars.

“Ugh. Do you have to do that?” Sam moaned. 

Dean laughed, but evened out and he pushed past a man in green, and narrowly avoided getting stuck in between two other drivers. The black and white checkered banner was waving up ahead. The drivers saw and began to zoom forwards. Shouts from the stands were shattering, and the racers were thinning out despite their determination. Somehow it became just the Impala and the tiny pink jeep belonging to Princess Peach. She was starting to overtake them, and Dean cried out in frustration. 

“Dean!” Sam shouted. “Behind us!” 

Dean looked in the rearview mirror. Bowser was back and gaining speed. He was already nudging Princess Peach’s bumper. She was yelling at the man as she tried to gain more speed. Dean swerved when the two got too close and Sam cried out when one of jeep’s rims hit the hood of the Impala. Dean changed gears again, and pushed the pedal so hard, it touched the floor. It was at that moment that Princess Peach tried to veer into Bowser, but she missed and she skidded off the track, and Bowser finally lost control of his car. He fishtailed into the Impala before careening into a wall. The impact of his blow sent the Impala forward and they rocketed past the finishing line. 

The cheering of the crowd heightened as people leapt up from their seats, and an announcer began shouting from somewhere, but neither brother cared.

“Brake!” Sam screamed.

Dean swerved to avoid a spectators stand as they barreled off the track at top speed. A road block didn’t stop them and Dean tried to wrestle back control; people were mere blurs as he blared the horn on instinct. He slammed on the brake, but it didn’t slow soon enough and he couldn’t stop or turn in time to avoid the fence that blocked their path. 

They hit it with enough force that Dean’s teeth rattled, and he was slammed into his seat. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was reminded of a scene from a John Hughes movie, but he lost the thought as they slammed into the fence. 

They were flying, and Sam’s shouting was the only thing he heard. They slammed down with enough force to bounce back up when they hit the ground. Dean shouted as he tumbled back down into the grass, finally stopping when something solid could prevent him from moving. He heard Sam groan next to him, and when Dean opened his eyes, the Impala was nowhere to be seen. 

“Sam?” 

He heard his voice rasp, but he didn’t care; the body next to him moved easily.

“Yeah I’m ok. Least I’m not a car anymore.” 

Dean craned his neck to see his brother, but all he could see were feathers and-

“Dean?”

Dean jumped at the voice. It was definitely Sam’s, but it sounded weird. Almost like some kind of squawk. He could see the beak moving, but it was forming human words, clacking with the effort. The black beads were eyes and they regarded Dean with intelligence. It flapped wings experimentally and possibly with confusion. It craned its neck and looked down at itself. The wings flapped suddenly, almost like a human slumping its shoulders, and it sighed. A human sound coming out of a bird was quite possibly the strangest thing Dean had ever seen. His head was beginning to spin with the surreal combination.

“Dammit.” it said. “Dean is that you?” 

Dean was about to reply, ‘Of course it is stupid,’ but then he looked down at himself, and didn’t see shoes but webbed feet, and he moved his arm, hoping to see the usual, but jumped back when feathers entered his line of vision.

“Oh my God.” 

The world went a little tilty as the bird-Sam quickly went over to him with wings outstretched. They touched his shoulders and Dean flinched. 

“Take it easy.” 

Dean took a breath and the world became clearer again. He could see each blade of grass easily. If Sam could be a car, then he could be a bird. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” 

“Let’s survive first.”

There was a snuffling sound, and the two moved closer together. The grass began to ripple and twitch. There was a sudden low growl before something huge burst through the grass. It began to bark, jaws snapping up and down. Its head was black and huge; it didn’t look like a hound, but it dived at them. 

“Fly!” Sam called. 

“How?!” Dean shouted back.

The two jumped and hovered, narrowing avoiding the teeth that brushed their wings. Dean flapped his wings wildly as the dog’s paws thundered over the ground, sending up plumes of dirt. 

“Like this!” 

Sam jumped at the dog, letting his wings batter the dog’s face, and it howled in anger and Dean took his chance. He started to run, his feet making him stumble as he opened his wings, and let them flare outward. A breeze was beginning to swirl beneath them and he jumped. He shouted as he flapped his wings frantically, trying to stay up. The dog jumped, but he dodged, and angled himself so he could see behind him. Sam was across from him, and weaving tightly back and forth from the dog, that was whining in frustration. 

“You ok?” he called.

Sam answered by flying closer to him, and Dean watched carefully as his brother’s wings beat at a more sedate pace. The dog howled and circled the ground before them, baying loudly. It only jumped a few times, its tail raised high. 

Dean laughed, or well it would have been a laugh, if birds could. 

“Dude, you sound so weird.” Sam commented. 

“Shut up, you look-”

A sudden rip in the air sliced past them. The sound was loud and it cracked, only stopping when it hit a tree. The two fluttered, and the resulting breeze made Dean flap at the air in agitation. 

“Damn birds!” a voice shouted. 

Another whiz of deadly air went past, the smell of metal getting overwhelming. They were unharmed, but when Dean looked down he could see-

“Bobby?!” Sam cried out in confusion. 

“Get outta my yard!” he shouted and he raised his rifle higher.

Another shot went off. It rang through the air, and the sound was shattering. More shots were ringing out; this version of Bobby was a good a shot as the one in real life. Sam swerved to avoid a bullet and shouted. Dean flinched when one got too close to his face. 

“Dive!” he shouted to Sam. 

“The dog-”

Dean pushed down, letting his feathers brush the grass, and heard Sam follow him. 

“Sic em’ Rumsfeld!” they heard Bobby shout. 

The dog took off like a shot, its panting was loud behind them and its teeth nipped at their tails and feet. 

“Damn and I used to like this game!” Dean shouted. 

“So did I.” Sam replied. 

“I never felt bad for the ducks before.” Dean panted. 

“Well, it would have been too easy if we were the ones’ doing the shooting-”

“Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” 

Dean wheeled away from the dog, and shot upwards.

“Dean?!” Sam called.

“None of the birds ever did this in the game!”

Dean soared upwards and the shots rang out again, and Sam just stared as Dean went straight for Bobby. He dived, ignoring the rifle and Bobby’s shouts. Bobby had now stopped shooting and was now just swinging the rifle at Dean. 

Sam wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed or amused. He was pretty sure they’d never do something like this again. He wasn’t even sure if they could actually get hurt-

“Ahhrrgh!” 

Scratch that, they could. Bobby had managed to hit Dean with the butt of the rifle. Sam raced forward, and swooped down just as Bobby was prepared to hit Dean again. Sam’s wings knocked off Bobby’s hat and he circled over the older man, blocking Dean from his sight. 

“Thanks man.” Dean panted, as well as ducks could anyway.

“Just run!” 

Dean swooped even lower, and flew inside the house. Sam cried out, and followed. He pressed forward.

“Idjit birds get outta there!” Bobby yelled from behind. 

The inside of the house was cluttered and messy. It was pretty much the same as real Bobby’s house, fireplace included. Dean hastily landed by it, flapping his wings. He seemed to be looking for something, and Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, if ducks could do that, that is.

“You know we don’t have thumbs right?” he asked. 

“Hey, you never know what could happen-”

Bobby ran into the room, and his footsteps thundered towards them. He grabbed what looked like a box of shells, and Sam tried to run as he fast as he could to Dean. 

“Fireplace!” 

Dean gave him a quick glance before leaping up, and flapping up. He hovered, frantically beating his wings as he climbed up. Sam raced behind him, nudging his brother upwards, as a shot missed him by inches. Sam battered Dean with his wings, and together the two managed to crawl up. Bullets were missing them by wider margins, and chips of brick tumbled down on them, and clung to them. 

The farther they crawled, the more quiet it got, and the darker it became. Dean slipped a bit, and bumped back into Sam. He heard his brother’s grunt of protest. 

“Sorry.” 

He grabbed for leverage and nearly yelled in relief. He had hands again, and he gleefully wiggled his fingers, laughing. 

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was muffled. “Your hands are-your hands!” he shouted.

Dean couldn’t help but cheer when his hands groped around Sam, and he could feel a face. He figured that was the only reason why Sam hadn’t pushed him off. 

“Thumbs feel pretty good, huh Sammy?” 

He could feel Sam’s smile. “Yeah, but this is getting a little awkward.” 

“Ok, ok. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Dean hauled himself back up, and pushed himself forward. They didn’t say much as they moved, and there was a pale pinprick of light. Dean moved faster and the pinprick grew to the size of a globe, and soon his hands hit air and he pulled himself up and he clambered out, grabbing Sam’s hands when they waved in the air. Sam hauled himself up and looked at Dean.

“Ok, where do you think we are now?” Dean asked.

Sam just looked at him, lips twitching. He snorted; face twisting briefly before smoothing it over. He opened his mouth, but no words just came out, just strangled noises. A keening giggle from the back of his throat was the only sound that came out. Dean stared at him in surprise but before he could react further, Sam’s face scrunched again and he pointed one shaking finger at Dean before he slumped. 

“You-”

Sam made another sound before bursting into laughter. Dean looked down at himself. He was no longer wearing his jeans, dark t-shirt, or his leather jacket. Instead he was wearing bright cherry red overalls. Sam was still pointing, and Dean reached up and felt a hat, going down lower and feeling something bristly on his face. A mustache. Sam was positively howling with laughter. Dean looked back at Sam. 

“You’re not much better yourself.”

Sam looked down at himself. He was wearing the same outfit, except in vivid green. Sam felt a mustache of his own, but he shrugged and burst into another fit of laughter.

“You’re like the jolly green giant!” Dean exclaimed. 

Sam didn’t bother with a retort, and he tried to stop his laughing. He cleared his throat. 

“I guess it’s pretty obvious where we are.” his voice was breathy with suppressed laughter. 

Dean nodded and looked out to see the tiny bumps of mountains in the distance. He made towards them, but stumbled back. Extending his hand, he moved forward until he felt something solid press against his hand. There was nothing to suggest what felt like a wall. Dean’s hand was pressed next to thin air. Sam’s eyes widened at the sight.

“How bout’ that?” Dean asked.

“Well I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. This must be the original one.”

“The original?” 

“Yeah, remember it was a side scroller. You could only go back or forward.”

Dean nodded in a vague way, suggesting he probably remembered, but didn’t press the point. He began to walk forward, looking at the bars that occasionally hung over their heads. A shiny gold disc hovered in the air and Dean pulled it out of the air, inspecting it. 

“So what is the point?”

Sam watched Dean fling the coin into the air, and it clattered onto the ground, frightening one of the small scuttling creatures that were approaching them. Sam ducked to avoid a flying creature, and exhaled deeply. 

“Well a videogame is something you play.” he began slowly. “They have certain…things that you do.” he explained, moving his hands. “You collect things, kill the mooks, get power ups and eventually try and kill the final boss.” 

“Ok, sure, but why this?” 

“Hmm, well maybe the type of game is the clue.”

“Type?” 

Sam elaborated. “These games are old. Like some of the first that were made, and were easy to get.” he paused, an idea coming to him. “These games are very straight forward, simple, and it was pretty easy to figure out what you had to do to win.” A theory was coming faster. “In the racing game, well you race to get first place. In the last one, you shoot the birds. I think we’re just supposed to play along.”

“That sounds familiar.” Dean’s voice was dark with suspicion. “What’s the objective of this game?”

“You collect coins, kill the bad guys, and travel around the levels to get to the big boss.” Sam looked thoughtful. “Familiar? You’re thinking the trickster has friends in high places?”

“Maybe.” Dean continued. “You sure about him helping? Seems flighty.” he remarked. 

Sam shrugged. “I think getting out of here is the only way he’ll listen. It’ll be pain in the ass, but something-”

Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted as something scuttled towards them; it was tiny but fast. Dean moved back, looking for a weapon. 

“A mook right?” he asked.

Sam nodded. Dean took a running leap, avoiding the creature. It growled and turned back, zipping forward. Dean suddenly moved, kicking his leg forward, punting the creature. It soared into the air before crashing to the ground and disappearing. 

Dean continued on, with Sam behind. They stuffed the shiny coins in their pockets, jumping over monsters, and the gaps in the ground. Sam nearly hit his head on the bars that floated above them a couple of times, but they were great for climbing. 

Dean stopped and pointed up ahead. He was pointing at a red and white puff, with a face was staring back at them with a smile. It floated by itself, and Dean turned to look at Sam. 

“That’s just creepy.”

“It’s a mushroom. They’re good for you.”

This earned a laughed out of Dean. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.” 

He strode towards it, and plucked it out of the sky. He turned it over in his hands, and it kept smiling at him. Sam peered at it over his shoulder. 

“Do I have to eat it?” Dean asked.

“Ummm, how about no.”

Alternate reality or not, Sam didn’t really want to see his brother munch on weird things they weren’t even sure was real. Dean shrugged and was about to toss it when a strange rasping noise made them look up. 

“Oh what now?” Dean griped. 

A few meters away was a large plant, and it had spotted them. It made another rasping noise, and opened its mouth. 

“Venus flytrap?” Sam asked to no one in particular. 

It had a tongue like thing in its mouth, and the sound it made this time was like a cat trying to hack up a hairball. Instead of something slimy, a small ball of fire shot out and it landed at the boys’ feet. 

“Plants that shoot fireballs?” Dean blinked slowly. “The guys who make these things are seriously cracked out.” he intoned. “Ok, any way to get past it?”

Sam frowned, trying to remember. “Umm, I think every few minutes, it’ll go back down to where it came from.” he pointed to the green tube the plant was sitting on. 

“You think?” 

Sam shrugged. “Worth a shot.” 

Dean raised the mushroom like it was a weapon, and he cautiously walked forward. The plant slumped down, gurgling unhappily. Dean crouched a bit, waiting for the plant to move, when it didn’t he rushed forward, launching himself forward and leapt onto the plant. It shrieked in fury, and Dean raised the mushroom high and began to slam it down onto the plant, using it like a club. 

“Now!” he shouted. 

Sam dashed forward, his palms hitting the green tube, and he rapidly pulled himself up and felt Dean grappling with the plant, jaw tense from holding the creature back as he slammed the now sad looking mushroom into the plant, as he tried to shove it into the monster’s mouth. 

“I got this!” 

Sam slid down and let his feet slap the ground hard. He turned and looked behind him. The plant monster was choking on the mushroom, its jaws scissoring frantically and its alarmed grunting was muffled as the mushroom stayed trapped in place. It whipped itself crazily around, and Dean had to duck and roll to avoid getting hit. He landed onto the ground with a thump and he hastily righted himself. The plant reared up as the two began move forward. It gave a throaty rumbling, and the edges of its mouth smoked; it shook itself again, and a crackling noise suddenly started up. 

Flames licked at the rims of its jaws, it keened before it hacked up a fire ball. Sam and Dean jumped back, missing the hit. The fireball thumped weakly onto the ground, smoldering gently. The charred mushroom stared back at them, but the plant was still shrieking as its own fire was beginning cover it. It thrashed before wilting, turning completely black before it shriveled up and disappeared. 

The green tube was now free; Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“This how we get outta here?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well going down ought to be easier than going up.” 

Together they moved to the tube, and Sam clambered in after Dean. It was dark inside, and it was a straight drop. It was almost like a water park slide, except they didn’t know where they would end up next. It was over as quickly as it began and Dean managed to keep to his feet and he straightened himself just as Sam fell, crashing into Dean. 

“Ahrrgh!” 

Sam pulled himself up, offering Dean a hand. Dean took it and hauled Dean up. 

“You good?”

“Terrific.” 

“Where are we?”

It was a tunnel, dimly lit and they could see it went on for a long time. Dean peered over the edge; it seemed they were rather high up. Sam scanned with his hands, and he felt the resistance against them. 

“We’re in another side scroller.” 

“Delightful.”

A sudden rumbling made the ground shake, and the two spread out their arms for balance, grabbing each other’s jackets. 

“Lemme guess, it’s a big boulder coming towards us.” Dean said. 

“Don’t think they ever made a game from that.” 

There was a bigger boom, and the ground shuddered more violently and the sound of something large and fast approaching made the walls shake. The air howled, wind was sucking downward as the thing barreled down the way. It was large and yellow, looking more like a ball than a boulder. It rolled at high speed, and when it rolled one final time, there was a gaping black hole cutting sharply into the ball. It looked like it was struggling to right itself; the hole was moving up and down, almost like a mouth. It began to move, the two ‘lips’ flapping with a horrific efficiency. It was headed straight towards them. 

“Wait-” Sam started.

Dean tugged on his sleeve to get Sam going. “Pac-man?! Really?!” he shouted. 

“Guess the trickster really does like it old school.” Sam panted. 

“Oh, we should play the game,” Dean mocked, “It’s really simple.” 

“Oh shut up. At least we’re not in Legend of Zelda.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Castiel and Alec scanned the building. They had been locked out of it for a while now; when Castiel tried to find Sam and Dean again, he opened a door, and it led him outside. When he tried to get back in, it was sealed against him. He headed back towards Alec, who had was just as bewildered and had found himself unable to go back inside as well. 

Castiel turned to Alec to watch the Shadowhunter pull out a weapon, or at least what seemed to be a weapon. It was one of the slender stick objects, and Castiel watched Alec make a writing motion with it along the side of the building. It looked as though he had written the word for ‘open’, but it didn’t look the way he was used to. It didn’t seem to work because Alec cursed. 

Castiel blinked; he could sense his own frustration and if he were in a wry mood, he would attribute it to the Winchester brothers. However, he needed to get them out of the building. Castiel raised his hand and pressed his palm against the building. Closing his eyes, he searched for whatever was binding the building with prickling energy. He frowned; he wouldn’t be able to break it easily. 

Alec cleared his throat. “So…did that work?”

Castiel turned to him. “I’m afraid getting back inside will be more difficult that I thought.” 

“Even with your…power?” Alec asked hesitatingly.

Castiel simply looked at Alec curiously; it took him a few moments to realize that Alec was anxious of offending him, or at least that was what Castiel assumed. He paused to try and find a proper response. Castiel peered at Alec, who made the boy shift at the scrutiny and he flushed slightly. 

“If I had offended you, I’m sorry.”

“You have not.” Castiel assured. “Some things are simply more difficult to do, considering that I rebelled.” 

“Oh.” Alec wasn‘t sure what to say. He cleared his throat “If you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you became indebted to two mundanes-er, hunters?” 

Castiel’s reply came to him. “That is difficult to explain. I had orders, and when they involved the Winchesters.” Castiel was confused at his inarticulation. “They have always defied expectation, including the circumstances that led us here.”

Alec was politely curious. “So…they are part of your mission?”

“In a way.” Castiel blinked. “It is because of them that I rebelled.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” Alec asked. 

Castiel looked pained. “It’s complicated. However-” he cut himself off, frowning. 

There was a sudden crashing sound; something very heavy had been suddenly dislodged. There was a loud clattering of metal hitting the ground. Trash rattled the ground, sending it in all directions. The sound was echoing, and then the stench hit. Alec wrinkled his nose, but Castiel stepped back, briefly overcome. 

The sudden sounds made the two freeze. Alec’s eyes widened in shock; those were familiar noises. Snuffling, rasping, growling, and snarling. They were getting closer, and Alec slowly reached for a weapon. Castiel watched and he tensed. He watched as Alec pulled out one of his slim tubes. Alec pressed himself against the wall, and after a moment, Castiel followed suit. The sounds were getting closer, just around the corner from them. Alec’s heart was pounding, and he brought the tube to his lips. He closed his, trying to quiet his breathing. 

A roar and Alec felt the hot, acrid breath on his face. He didn’t have time to shout. It revealed its gaping mouth, and tentacles wrapped themselves around Alec’s neck. He could see its red-suckers, the needle-like teeth inches from his eyes-

Alec was pulled back, feet skimming the ground. He stumbled, gaining his footing and he looked ahead. Castiel had yanked him back; his blade glimmered as it slashed at the tentacles that were previously strangling Alec. As he cut it, it hissed and black fluid gushed out of the wound. Castiel made a noise of disgust, hastily moving away from the thick liquid. 

“Another monstrosity.” his voice sounded like thunder. 

Castiel moved to Alec’s side. The first creature was almost human shaped and its bulging eyes stared hungrily at them. Its tentacles were bursting out from its wrists, as if it had shed its hands. They were a slimy dead grey, which matched the rest of its skin. The only color it had was the red suckers, sore and infected looking, and the needles inside them could be clearly seen; they clacked together, moving with excitement. It was like they strained to shoot out from the rest of the body and pierce them. The black fluid dripped down onto the ground. 

“Be careful.” Alec cautioned, gesturing to the dripping blackness. “Its blood is poison.”

“Unsurprising.” Castiel intoned, his lips pulled back in a feral grimace. 

Another rumbling noise and two more creatures appeared. They were opposing in appearance, and looked nothing like the tentacled one. The first was rather large, but it moved fast on its paw-like hands. It had a monkey-ish quality to it, but it had an enormous stinger tail, it swung obscenely to and fro. Its eyes looked jaundiced and seemed to have trouble focusing on them, but it hissed threateningly all the same. It pulled back dirty lips to reveal jagged and broken teeth. It made way for the second beast. 

The second beast was larger and more fearsome looking than the previous two, which moved to quickly flank it. This one had grey, almost elephantine skin. However, it looked more like a rhinoceros in build. Its head was enormous, with a large spiny horn emerging from its forehead and it emitted a horrible smell. It shook itself, and scales fell off its body. Roaring, it moved forward, claws scraping the ground like nails against a blackboard. It lowered its head, preparing to charge and spindles could be seen all along its back. Its tail thumped in warning, and when it came into full view, it resembled a python with numerous eyes covering its body.

“By the Angel,” Alec whispered. “A Raum and a Scorprios? But what the hell is the other one?!” 

Castiel glanced at Alec, who was still holding the tube in his hand. He seemed to snap out of it and he turned to Castiel. 

“Any ideas?” he asked. 

“The large one poses a problem.” Castiel rumbled. “That one first.” 

Alec nodded, grimmer than before. He gripped the tube hard in his hand, barely sparing it a glance before calling out.

“Arathiel.” 

The tube blazed to life and within seconds it burst out, slicing the air and elongating into a thin blade. It pulsed with power; Castiel’s grace spiked at the clear blade’s power, which seemed to respond to Castiel as well as Alec.

Castiel felt a divide in his attention; the blade was alive, full of an energy of its own. It responded to the now surging force in Alec, and Castiel felt his own power tremble in anticipation. It was almost as if he was side by side with one of his brothers again, and a sudden pang went through him. The power was vibrating through all three of them, and suddenly Castiel felt a new acuteness, and it began to enhance his spirit. He was ready to fight. 

Castiel gripped the handle of his own blade, the black blood smudged on its tip, and his lip curled in momentary disgust. He was about to spill more blood. Castiel shifted his stance, letting it resemble Alec’s. The creature roared, and the two beside him flung themselves forward, and a second later the large beast lowered its head and began to charge.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Sam and Dean stopped running and were greeted by a cheering crowd. They entered into a large stadium, and it was jam packed with people. The two stepped back in surprise. 

“Well it looks like our challengers have finally arrived!”

Both jumped and turned to the voice. It was coming from a table on the sidelines. They were protected by a large glass wall that looked very sturdy. The table had at least five people, and each one had a microphone next to them. One energetic looking man was clutching his and shouting happily into it.

“This panel has been eagerly awaiting this match for a while now!”

“Exactly!” cried a man to his left. “This should be exciting!”

“Well let’s get started.” a woman replied impatiently. 

Suddenly at a gesture from the first man, men wearing stripped shirts strode over to Sam and Dean, carrying trays. 

“Shall we get started?” one asked Sam, thrusting a tray into his hands.

“Umm-okay?”

“Good.” 

Dean looked down at his own tray, which was gently pushed into his hands. It held six red and white striped balls. He looked at Sam, then back down to the tray.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

Sam looked down at his own. “Oh I think so.” 

Without any more prompting, one of the stripe shirted men led Sam to the other end of the stadium. Sam looked back at Dean, who gave him a grimace of consternation. The crowd cheered when Sam was finally put in his spot. It was at the end of the circular field, so that he and Dean stood at opposing ends. Each one now stood on a small platform that had a small surface to put their trays. Railing prevented them from falling, even if the drop would only have been three feet at the most. 

Sam looked down at his panel. It held a screen, and he took out one of the striped balls and put it into the slot beneath the screen. Suddenly the screen flickered to life. Bold text flashed and read: 

‘Scanning Data’

A second later a picture appeared on the screen, a name beneath it. Sam had a flash of nostalgia as he recognized the name. 

Lapras. 

Pressing a few buttons next to the screen got him to realize he could look at each individuals type and stats. He quickly slid the five remaining balls into the slot. The data came back faster. Names came up in rapid succession. Latias, Espeon, Ampharus, Misdreavus, and Typholsion. 

“Not a bad set.” 

Sam turned to look at another button beneath a much smaller screen. Curious, he pressed it. He heard a small beep and Dean’s voice came in crystal clear. 

“-what, son of a-”

“Dean.”

“Sammy?” Dean sounded harassed.

“Yeah, can you see me?” 

“…Hang on.” 

A beep later and Sam could see Dean’s face fill the tiny screen. He looked as annoyed as he had sounded. 

“The hell?” Dean scowled. “I never played this game.” 

The cheers of the crowd started up again, and a screen suddenly descended from the ceiling of the stadium. It stopped, hanging in the center and it came to life, showing close ups of both brothers. Sam stared back, rolling his eyes, and seeing his expression mirrored back in high definition. 

“I have.” Sam backpedaled slightly. “But only a few times.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Ok.” 

“Ok.” Sam replied, then: “Okay, did you put your balls in the slot?” he asked.

“That’s a little personal don’t ya think?” 

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” 

Dean grinned, and Sam could hear him putting each poke ball into the slot. The beeps were loud as Dean fiddled with the controls. 

“Huh. Think I got a good haul.” Dean whistled. “They look kinda cool. How do I do this?”

The commentators suddenly started talking, a loud speaker amplifying the voice.

“Now remember,” It said. “This is a trophy match, all levels accepted, and each player can have up to six Pokémon on their team. If a Pokémon faints, it cannot be put back in play. There is no time limit. Players will begin at the horn.”

The crowd cheered, and the sound assaulted them from every corner.

“It’s like a complicated rock-paper-scissors. Fire beats Grass, Water beats Fire. Each type has a strength and a weakness. Stats can help you pick with type is the best of its kind, but you want a balanced team. Knowing their moves really helps because some have attacks that can do different things, and having a variety of moves means you can win easier. Some even have moves from other types.” he quickly explained. 

“You’ve only played a couple of times?” 

“Shut up.” 

The horn blared. Sam looked through his pool and quickly selected one. He looked up to see Dean reluctantly lift one ball out. 

“Throw it.” Sam called. “On three!”

“One. Two. Three!”

Both threw. Sam watched Dean hurl the ball into the air. It sailed high before opening midair. A flash of light made them squint, but it was quickly gone, and then their monsters were on the field.

Dean blinked in surprise at what he saw. Huge monsters. His own was standing upright on thick hind legs, and each limb had vicious claws. Dean’s had spines all the way from head to tail, and its tail was triple pronged. All of it looked scaly and hard, and if he tried to touch it, his skin would slough off. It was an off green color except for a patch of dark color on its belly. 

“Oh Dean Winchester has put Tyranitar into play!” the first commentator shouted.

“A very aggressive opening move.” said the second.

“But it matches Sam Winchester, who is starting things off with his Typholsion.” a third one replied. 

Dean glowered at the commentators’ box, but turned to get a look at Sam’s monster. It was just as huge as his own, but more colorful. It was two toned, with a blue roan coat, with a light colored underbelly. It had a huge mane of fire, and it was jetting outwards aggressively. It roared at his monster with a huge head full of teeth. It reared up on its hind legs before crashing back down onto all fours. The two creatures looked ready to tear into each other, the only thing stopping them their masters’ commands.

“Wanna get this party started?” Dean asked. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” Sam replied. 

“Attack!” Dean shouted.

Tyranitar roared and raced towards Typholsion. Sam shouted, and jets of flame shot out of Typholsion’s mouth. Tyranitar bellowed in pain, and charged. The impact sent Typholsion staggering. It reared back on its haunches, bracing for more. Dirt was kicked up, gathering around the two creatures. Flames were crackling on the ground, and the feet of the grappling beasts quickly put them out. Tyranitar lowered itself to the ground and swung its tail high, hitting Typholsion full in the face. It bit down of the tail, seemingly not caring if its mouth caught the spikes. It was growling in pain, but the inside of its mouth glowed. 

Flames suddenly consumed Tyranitar, and it writhed and whirled on Typholsion in a fury. Its huge claws raking Typholsion’s face, which made the flame creature scream in pain. It spun, mouth still clamped onto Tyranitar as it leaned on the other, bearing down. The two crashed into the ground, scattering debris and popping ear drums with the sound of their impact. 

They roared, their heavy limbs crushing into the ground. Typholsion struggled to move away from Tyranitar, and Sam suddenly called out a command. A sudden wheel shaped burst of flame barreled into Tyranitar, and the other monster leapt up and scrambled to get away. 

“Throw something at him!” Dean shouted. 

Tyranitar didn’t need prompting, and it growled as it hefted up a large rock with crude paws. Its aim was rough but it hit Typholsion, who snarled in anger and its fire plumed mane burned brighter. It shot out a lethal stream of fire, but missed. It fired bursts of flame, and Tyranitar lumbering, managed to dodge them. Tyranitar moved steadily, hurling rocks at Typholsion, who blasted some of them, but shot fireballs at Tyranitar’s feet. 

“Guess my Tyrant-Tire is gonna beat your Typo-Explosion.” Dean commented.

“We’ll see.” Sam countered, not unamused. “And its Tyranitar and Typholsion.” 

“Whatever.”

Tyranitar was in front of Typholsion, and its long, serrated claws dug into Typholsion’s shaggy fur. The fire monster screamed as it was suddenly hefted into the air. Tyranitar rumbled in triumph and threw Typholsion. It hurtled through the air, and Tyranitar gave chase as Typholsion slammed into a wall, its thick body making a crater. It screeched in pain as Tyranitar slammed into Typholsion, pushing it farther into the wall and making the crater even larger. 

Typholsion seemed to groan, and its jaws trembling. Smoke was unfurling from its mouth, and it growled before the crackling of flames overtook the sound. Fire shot out, hitting Tyranitar square in the chest. The molten stream shot Tyranitar high into the air.

The crowd screamed as Tyranitar plummeted into the hard earth, shattering it on impact. Chunks of rock flew in all directions, landing just a few feet from the audience. This drew gasps from them as large fragments of rock, some almost boulder sized, sailed high into the air and then rained down on Tyranitar. 

It growled feebly before slumping down, and Typholsion hissed in pain and did not move. There was a brief silence and then a tumultuous wave of sound. The commentators began shouting again, gripping their microphones tight and pressing the black bulbs hard to their lips. 

“It’s a double knockout! Amazing-they knocked each other out!”

“Incredible start to a match!” 

Dean watched Sam pull out a poke ball and recalled his Typholsion. He quickly mimicked his brother.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“No we’ve still got five more to go.” 

Dean groaned. He looked at his pool, and picked up another ball as he glanced at its stats. He shrugged and threw the ball. The Pokémon appeared quickly, and with a trumpeted cry. 

“And now, Dean Winchester has brought out his Donphan.”

“But what will Sam choose? That’s the question.” 

Sam rolled his eyes at the commentary, but he already knew what his choice would be. He grabbed a ball, pulled back his arm, and threw quickly. With a delicate cry, his next creature appeared on the field. 

“Oh it’s Lapras!” 

The two creatures faced each other, much more contrasting than the previous two. Donphan was some sort of elephantine creature with an armored back of dark leather. It had two long curving tusks that flanked a thick powerful trunk. Donphan stomped its large feet in agitation. It was a powerful, aggressive looking beast. 

Lapras was much more graceful looking, with an arching neck that tapered downwards, and had powerful flippers. It looked like a cross between some kind of whale and a dolphin. Its large, coral-like saddle contrasted with its blue skin. It cried out, its curlicue ears wriggled and it undulated in challenge. 

Dean fiddled with the controls on his panel, and he quietly read the stats and moves. He looked up, looking slightly embarrassed. 

“Donphan, use rollout!” he called. 

Donphan cried out, springing into the air, curling into a ball. It shot forward, heading straight for Lapras. The water beast barely got out of the way, giving a musical cry as it did. Donphan expertly turned, rolling with deadly precision at Lapras. This time, its aim was true. Lapras was bowled over, whimpering in pain. Its flippers flapped at the air as it struggled to right itself, and Sam quickly shouted commands. 

As Donphan spun around for another hit, Lapras finally righted itself and opened its mouth wide. A thick torrent of water jetted out, as powerful as a fireman’s hose. It caught Donphan off guard, sending it stumbling. Donphan was forcibly unfurled, and blown off path. 

“Keep using rollout!” shouted Dean.

Donphan leapt up and curled itself with efficiency. Its speed was impressive for its bulk, and Lapras had trouble moving. Its flippers were firmly anchored to the dry ground. 

“Lapras sing!” Sam urged.

Lapras opened its mouth wide, and a melodious pitch poured out. It was delicate, soft, and slightly eerie. Donphan weaved erratically, but instead of slowing down, it just went faster. Its tusks tore into the ground, deep ruts forming in crazy trails. Donphan snuffled as it careened into Lapras, tusks goring the shell saddle. Lapras screeched in pain as tusks and trunk slammed into its body, mercilessly slashing and slamming. 

“Surf!” came Sam’s shout. 

Lapras gave another cry and water suddenly surged outwards, knocking Donphan far off course. Water still poured out, filling the deep ruts and pooling out. Donphan trumpeted in agitation as its large feet caught in the quickly developing mud. It tried desperately to escape, mud sucking and squelching beneath it. Donphan finally freed itself, but had to leap high to avoid getting trapped again. There wasn’t much space to use rollout again, but a sudden blast of water from Lapras knocked Donphan off its feet. 

It landed on its back, armor quickly sinking into the muck. Donphan’s legs frantically waved in the air, unable to right itself. Its trunk was straining upwards, sucking down air. Another thick stream of water shot out, and it was enough to knock Donphan back several feet. It slipped through the mud, unable to gain footing. Lapras continued to spray out water until Donphan was finally stopped by the podium with a heavy thud. 

Dean grabbed the railing to prevent himself from falling, the impact shuddering through the metal frame. He looked down to see his Donphan dazedly try to stand before wobbling and then, crumpling to the ground. Dean looked up to see Lapras before recalling his creature. 

“Show off.” 

Dean barely glanced at his roster and threw another ball. The brief flash of light was harsh on the eyes, and was stood on the soggy ground was a beast much bigger than Donphan. It roared assertively as it swung its flaming tail back and forth. The commentators were in an uproar. 

“Oh-Dean Winchester is going with Charizard!” 

“This is pretty shocking-a daring move!”

“What is he trying to do?” 

Sam looked at the commentators, and back to Dean. 

“You do realize Charizard is a fire type right?” at Dean’s nod he continued. “And that Lapras is a water type?” 

“My guy can fly.” Dean countered. “Fly!” he shouted to Charizard. 

Charizard took to the skies, beating its powerful wings. The wind could be heard as it made the water slosh on the ground. Lapras cried out as it began to get slapped by the waves. The wind rocked both Lapras and Sam’s stand, both swaying despite being firmly anchored. Lapras quickly gained control, flapping its flippers with a steady pounding. 

“Attack!” shouted Dean.

Charizard acknowledged the command with a roar. It opened its mouth wide, revealing jagged yellow teeth. There was a crackling sound, and the entire inside of its mouth was suddenly illuminated. It was like sensing the lightening before it struck, seeing it arrive in that nano-second before oblivion. Molten fire shot outwards, spewing like lethal vomit. 

“Whirlpool!” Sam yelled.

Lapras suddenly moved, magnificent flippers slapping and stroking the water. The water began to move faster, shimmying upwards until it created a wall that managed to keep itself erect. The fireball hit the wall, put out instantly. Smoke billowed against the wall. Said wall sloshed downwards, but the smoke lingered, not quite filling the air. 

“Again. Keep shooting.” Dean directed. 

Charizard began its attack again, and the wall rose up; Lapras pulled the water that surrounded it, and Charizard dived low, seeing the weakness. It fired another shot. The flame went straight for Lapras’s face and it spat out a jet of water. It caught the fireball, extinguishing it. Charizard swerved sharply upwards to avoid getting blasted. The water wall came crashing down, nearly dousing Charizard’s tail, it roared in frustration as it struggled to soar away from Lapras, who blasted another jet of water. Charizard wheeled, letting loose another sweeping blaze of fire. It did not hit Lapras, but the water. Flames briefly crackled by Lapras’s body, illuminating its blue skin before vanishing. Smoke hissed, its disembodied form hovering close to the water. Lapras shook its head.

“Fire at the water.” Dean called out suddenly.

Sam shouted in surprise as the winged monster created more heat, a large ring of fire surrounding Lapras. It was put out quickly, but then created again just as quickly. Steam gathered, making the water waver and blur. Sam rapidly blinked; sweat was getting in his eyes. He could see Lapras was in a similar state, the creature was struggling to breathe. Its skin gleamed eerily and looked oddly sick. The water surrounding it was boiling, bubbles popped next to Lapras, and it undulated with discomfort, wailing in pain. Charizard swooped low at a command, and Sam countered swiftly. Lapras’s voice was shaky, but its attack still made Charizard swerve. Its fire scorched high into the air, making tight turns. It twisted suddenly, nose diving straight at Lapras. Another fire attack was building up, but Lapras countered and Charizard and the large beast got a face full of water. It choked, steam clouding its face. It back pedaled hastily, wings punching the air. 

Dean lifted up the poke ball, recalling Charizard, and he threw another ball in the air. His next beast filled the arena with a raspy screech.

“Well a smart move.” one commentator spoke up.

“Especially since that could have been the end of Charizard.” said the second.

“We probably haven’t seen the last of it.” replied the third.

“With Gyrados now in play, you’re probably right.” a fourth said.

“Oh God, shut up.” Dean groused.

The Gyrados unfurled itself. It was a scaly, serpentine behemoth with strong jaws and wicked eyes. The steam that surrounded it made it shimmer ominously. It opened its mouth wide; teeth were revealed to be deadly and precise. The boiling water did not bother it; the scales on its body glimmered. It made Lapras look weak and soft by comparison. Gyrados sunk into the water, its eyes the last thing to be seen as it glared at Lapras. 

“This sounds cool. Rage attack!” Dean ordered. 

Gyrados rumbled in reply, water rippling with response. The beast was no longer seen, but was quickly heard. Water rushed forward, and Lapras could not get away fast enough. Gyrados’s gigantic tail slapped Lapras, batting the creature mercilessly. Lapras wailed as it was assaulted with blow after blow; they came so fast that there was no time to react, and Lapras was flipped and tossed into the air, crashing down with a violent splash. Gyrados was snarling as its scales rubbed into Lapras’s skin and cuts appeared. It was unable to follow Sam’s commands as they were quickly rebuffed by Gyrados. 

“Bind!” Dean called out. 

Gyrados moved with blinding speed and grabbed Lapras before it had a chance to escape. It wrapped itself around Lapras like a giant python. Lapras struggled weakly in the grip, but could not move. There was a sickening crunch as its coral saddle broke, the pieces falling into the water with a cheerful plunk. Lapras screamed until its voice gave out, and its body went limp. 

“Aaannd Lapras has fainted!” The announcer warbled. 

Sam rolled his eyes at the comment as he sent Lapras back to its ball. Looking down briefly at his roster, he already knew which one to send out next. It revealed itself with a magnified bleat. It was Ampharus, a midsized creature with a yellow hide and a long neck. The bead-like ball on the end of its tail glowed in response to Gyrados’s brutish cries. Ampharus was small next to Gyrados and it looked frail as it made another odd bleat. 

At a command from Dean, Gyrados charged. Water sprayed outwards as Gyrados crashed forwards, but Ampharus dodged. It struggled to get out of the way and managed to find a slab of rock to stand on. Even though the heat from Charizard had made a great deal of water evaporate, there was still enough that Gyrados could move unhindered. The announcers were prattling on, but Sam tuned them out, calling out an order. Ampharus crackled in response, sparks dancing around its body as the ball on its tail glowed brightly. As soon as sparks hit the water, Gyrados growled apprehensively. The water began to sizzle and once again steam rose. The air smelled of metal and began to buzz. 

Gyrados suddenly lunged, jaws distended. Ampharus leaped as soon as the water dragon crashed into the slab, sending it scattering. Ampharus landed onto Gyrados’s face, its grip tight around one of the creature’s fangs.

“Thunder!” Sam demanded. 

The attack came, bright as lightening and just as fierce. Electricity swayed and danced. It licked at Gyrados’s body, catching in the scales, giving them a deadly shimmer. The bolts bounded over the water, and every time Gyrados tried to move, the lightening would catch its body. Gyrados thrashed and no matter how or where it moved, it would always be shocked. Its body swelled as lightening lit up its mouth, coursing through its entire body, shooting inside of it. Gyrados seized as the haze intensified, making it hard to see. The water was fleeing; evaporating in the extremes it was being put under. Gyrados was lifted upwards from the force of the attack, still in its grip. It roared, before suddenly crashing down, smoking and motionless. Ampharus stumbled out of its mouth; it wobbled onto its haunches, the grass squelching beneath it. 

“Sam Winchester’s Ampharus used Thunder!”

“Yes, its super effective!”

Dean looked down at his smoldering monster and whistled as Sam slapped a palm to his forehead.

“Damn.” Dean drew out the word.

Sam gave him a twisted smile. “But it was better than the Tetris right?”

Dean laughed.

“How long do we have to keep doing this?” Sam asked. “At this rate, we’ll be trapped here forever-“

“You’re the one who said to play along-“ 

Sam cut him off. “So you don’t have a plan?” 

“I’m workin’ on it.” Dean snapped.

“Well it appears nothing is happening.” A commentator suddenly cried.

“Oh shut up!” Dean yelled. 

Sam sighed. “Shall we?”

“Urgh.” 

Dean recalled Gyrados; a flash of light later and another creature appeared. It was equal in size to Ampharus, but its body was green and it looked much fiercer. It had curving blades in place of arms and hands, its hind legs had thick wicked claws, and it crouched forward as if eager for a fight. Small translucent wings buzzed quickly together. Dean looked down at the stats.

“Scyther huh?” Dean turned to his creature. “Cut!”

With a screech Scyther raced forward, more graceful that imagined. Ampharus barely had time to dodge and it shot out a small lightning bolt, which missed and hit the soggy ground with a sizzle. Ampharus cried out, getting slashed repeatedly. Its next bolt hit Scyther, but didn’t do much damage. Scyther screeched again, miniscule teeth flashing. It shot through, blades whirring. Scyther tackled Ampharus, blindly bringing its blades downwards. Ampharus rolled out from under Scyther, bleating in alarm.

With a sudden flash, Sam recalled Ampharus and looked for a replacement as the crowd screamed. 

“Ready to give up?” Dean asked.

“You wish!” Sam called back. He threw the ball. “I choose you, Espeon!” 

The creature came out with a flash. It was four-legged and lilac furred. Its size was somewhere in between house cat and leopard, but what made it stand out was its two pronged tail. Scyther rasped in aggression, but Espeon stared impassively at the other creature. Both beasts looked ready to tear into each other.

“Go!” shouted Dean.

Scyther moved again, blades extended. Espeon stood its ground, but Scyther veered sharply, blade singing. Espeon dodged, hissing angrily. 

“Mirage!” Dean called.

Suddenly, Scyther was a blur, racing in circles around Espeon. Then there were ten Scythers’, each one vicious as their blades descended. The purple beast ducked low, eyes flashing.

“Psychic!” Sam countered.

The air suddenly rippled, and the jewel set on Espeon’s forehead began to glow. The Scyther figures vanished, as if they had never existed, and left the original standing. Its thick green feet rose from the ground, and it began to hover. Scyther squirmed in agitation, unable to control its movements. Scyther was swiftly yanked backwards, as if shoved by a giant. It sailed across the field before slamming to a stop at Dean’s ramp. The small metal box rattled at the impact and Dean looked at Espeon to Sam and back again.

“Figures.” He muttered.

Something caught his eyes, and he looked into the crowd. He ignored the field and the two creatures eying each other warily. Sam frowned, following Dean’s line of sight, but he couldn’t tell what his brother was looking at. Dean grabbed a poke ball from his tray and in one blurred motion, threw it. Charizard appeared. The crowd gasped in shock. The commentators were all shouting in unison, unable to contain themselves as the stripe shirted men frantically blew whistles. Dean paid them no attention as he commanded Charizard. The beast roared, flying straight into the audience, shooting fire at them. People scrambled to get out of the way, screaming in terror.

“Woah! Easy there, tiger.”

Sam blinked. The Trickster stood in the middle of the field, hands raised in a surrender gesture. The amused smirk on his face suggested otherwise. 

“Enough.” Dean said. “We get it.”

“…Get what?” 

Sam dropped off his podium to join his brother, who confronted the Trickster.

“You want us to play along, to what the game tells us to.” Sam supplied.

“Warmer.” Trickster looked considering.

Dean was incredulous. “Warmer?!”

Trickster gave him a look suggesting this obvious. “Duh. This is only the half of it. You gotta play the game outside.”

Sam was more than annoyed. “Life is just a game to you?”

Trickster shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

“You know what, screw this.” Dean snapped. “I know one of those winged dicks put you up to this.”  
The Trickster snorted. “Please. Those jag-offs don’t boss me around. Trust me, I wouldn’t hang around with those losers-“

Dean continued. “I don’t know which dick you’re working for and I don’t care. It’s pretty pathetic to be an angel’s bitch.”

“Speaking from experience?” The Trickster asked cheerfully.

“You won’t help us.” Dean didn’t sound surprised. “I bet you won’t even lift a finger to stop em’ or give a damn, you selfish gutless bastard.” Dean was on a roll. “You’ll just let them do whatever they want. Be a slave to a bunch of soulless douchebags that want the world to burn-”

Sam suddenly felt the air change and gritted his teeth. In one motion, the Trickster grabbed Dean by the collar of his jacket and lifted him up from the ground. Dean struggled, his feet skimming the grass. There was a buzzing in Sam’s ears, and it took him a moment to realize it was silent. The stadium was empty, but Sam was frozen, watching the Trickster, was looking as angry as Sam had ever seen him, almost murderous. His eyes full of thunder, and Sam shivered suddenly; he didn’t like the expression one bit. It somehow seemed familiar. 

“You don’t know anything about me.” He rasped at Dean, livid. “So why don’t you be a good little vessel and shut up, you smug little-” 

Suddenly, the Trickster’s grip slackened and Dean was dropped none too gently onto the ground. Dean scrambled up quickly, rubbing his neck. He stared warily, but before he could say anything, Sam made it to his side. They watched the Trickster carefully. The other man wasn’t looking or even paying attention to them anymore. His eyes were wide, staring at something only he could see. He looked shocked, even horrified. He had gone completely rigid, and he spoke softly to himself and somehow that put Sam on edge even more.

“Son of a bitch.”

He sounded incredulous, which seemed out of character, but before Sam could figure anything out; the Trickster gave a vague finger snap in their direction before disappearing. 

Sam blinked. He turned wildly around; they were no longer in a stadium, but what looked like the inside of a warehouse. It smelled faintly of burnt sugar.

“Holy crap.” Dean suddenly said. “What was that all about and where are we?”

“Dunno, but I think we’re back in reality.”

“How’d you figure?” 

“Just a guess.”

“Didn’t he seem strange though?” Dean elaborated at Sam’s look. “I’m mean with the angel thing? I didn’t even say a name and the guy lost it.”

“He knew them.” Sam stated.

Sam had a sudden thought. He knew why the Trickster lost his temper; he remembered the expression.

“Hang on.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
Castiel gripped his blade tighter as the hideous creature charged. He could hear the shouting, as the younger warrior was surrounded. Castiel was filled with dread. The air crackled, and grace rippled with force. It was not his own, and it belonged to a powerful individual; Castiel’s eyes widened as he heard the wing beats.

A man with semi-slicked back blonde hair appeared. There was no smile on his face; he was watching the monsters with disgust. His grace radiated violence and Castiel shivered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alec looking fearful. Castiel could hardly blame him; he looked at the man in shock.

“Y-you are-”

“Get out of here.” 

His voice was firm and uncompromising. There was something dark in his eyes; there was a tremor from the ground, and Castiel felt himself moving backwards, hastening to obey. Only one thing was keeping him from doing so.

“Look Tweedledee and Tweedledum are ok. They’re a couple of warehouses down.”

The stranger turned to Castiel and gave him a brief and alarming smile.

“Get out of here.” He said again. “I’ll handle this.”

Castiel had no doubt that he could. He nodded and grabbed Alec as the creatures rushed the stranger. Castiel looked on as the man brushed aside the two smaller ones and destroyed them with ease. The last large one bellowed, wheeling away and the man gave chase. Castiel gripped Alec’s arm, and spread his wings. He could feel the weight of Alec clutched tight against him. Castiel sped faster; the knowledge of where Sam and Dean were was firm as a stone in his mind. They landed easily and Alec swayed unsteadily. He clutched at Castiel briefly to regain his balance, flushing with embarrassment. He straightened up and looked at their surroundings. The abandoned warehouses smelled of burnt sugar; a loud bang made them turn around to see two familiar figures. They raced to catch up to them, Alec calling out. 

“Sam! Dean!” Alec shouted.

They hurried and made a sharp turn to each other. Castiel could sense the same grace around them that he had encountered moments before. His foreboding increased. He heard Alec rapidly fill them in before Sam and Dean could speak.

“That demon was headed in the direction of Magnus’s.” his voice was wire thin.

Sam quickly rattled off their encounter as they hurried to leave. Dean finally cut in.

“We don’t think he’s a Trickster.”

“That’s because he isn’t.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
By the time they got to Magnus’s, they could see smoke rising. Alec raced ahead, his blade already out and gleaming. Sam, Dean, and Castiel hot on his heels.

“Magnus!” he shouted.

Magnus’s back was to them, and he was standing right next to the Trickster. At the sound of his name, Magnus turned to look at the four who had gotten to his side easily. They all stared at one another; the smoldering pile was the demon and the smoke spiraled up briefly before the creature disappeared. 

“Oi, Trickster.” Dean called.

Magnus looked briefly nonplussed as the Trickster perked up. He didn’t have time to react as he was suddenly splashed with liquid.

“Gah!”

“You know what this is?” Dean held up an ancient looking jug. “It’s holy oil.”

“…Oookay, and?”

Sam was beginning to look aggrieved, but Dean struck a match. The Trickster watched curiously, as Alec and Castiel anxiously watched. Magnus was looking on with interest and he moved slightly forward. 

“Don’t bother lying.” Dean held up the match. “You’re an angel.”

The response was immediate; Alec was shocked, but Magnus stared with a considering look as Castiel watched unsurprised. The Trickster was incredulous. 

“An angel?!” he laughed. “Was mommy not around to tell you drugs are bad?”

Dean flicked the match and the Trickster hurried to get out of its path. It was a dead giveaway, and Trickster realized it. He looked like he was having trouble preventing himself from cursing. Very reluctantly, he raised his hands; his surrender gesture sincere this time.

“Alright. Alright. Yeah. Yes, I am. Happy?” he snapped. 

Sam folded his arms. “So which dick are you?”

Sam was given a lengthy stare. “Gabriel, ok.” His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. “They call me Gabriel.” 

Sam could feel the shock on his face. “Gabriel? As in the archangel?”

“Hey.” 

Magnus suddenly moved to stand next to Gabriel.

“Well, that explains a lot.” He mused. “At any rate, there will be no smiting in my house.”

As surprised as Sam and Dean were, it was Alec who spoke next; he looked from Gabriel to Magnus. He seemed oddly hurt. 

“Wait, do you two know each other?”

Gabriel smirked at Alec. “We go way back.”

“That needs some explaining.” Dean muttered sarcastically.

“So do you.” Magnus countered.

“I think we all do.” Sam said. 

Alec shot him a grateful look.

“Starting with you.” Dean addressed Gabriel. “Like why aren’t you loyal to your psycho brothers?”

“Watch your mouth.” Gabriel said. “I love my brothers-love them. Things change. Before Armageddon, which I call another day at the office.” His face screwed up in derisive thought. “Or maybe a family reunion. Its’ pretty typical of them to pick a fight, but I wasn’t interested.” His voice slipped into some dark register. “Watching them rip each other to pieces, trying to kill each other? It was unbearable. I couldn’t stop them, and I wasn’t going to hang around to watch.” He glared at Sam and Dean. “I thought you two could relate. It was why I kept such a close eye on you guys.” Gabriel threw up his hands. “But hey, whatever; they want to kill each other? Fine, not my problem.”

He faced his fascinated, but unwilling audience. Gabriel didn’t seem to care who heard him. It was silent, but then Magnus broke the silence.

“The apocalypse? Truly?” he asked.

Gabriel looked at Magnus. “Yup. The end is nigh, just sit back and pop some corn.”

Only Magnus was the only one who didn’t look affronted. Sam quickly spoke up.

“We can stop it.” He urged.

The look Gabriel gave him was almost pitying. 

“No one can stop it. Come on, I can’t be the only one who just wants to get this over with.” a look of weariness was there for a split second be he shrugged. “This planet is boring anyway.”

Dean angrily replied. “So this isn’t about destiny for you, it’s because you’re too scared to face your family!” he was close to shouting.

“Standing…standing up to family is hard.” Alec said unexpectedly.

Everyone rounded on him. Alec flushed with mortification at their scrutiny. He rubbed the back of his neck and kept his eyes downward. Alec stood rigidly, and avoided Magnus, who was staring at him with an inexplicably sad expression. Magnus turned back to Gabriel.

“How about a compromise.” He offered. “You know something. Just tell them, and you don’t have to help any more than that.” Magnus silenced any protests with a look. “It’s up to you, but please Loki.” 

Magnus locked eyes with Gabriel, and for a few moments they simply stared at each other. Whatever was being shared between them was lost on everyone else. To everyone, except for maybe Magnus, Gabriel nodded.

“Yeah, alright.”

Magnus led them into his loft, pulling out a slim pink phone.

“Calling another powwow?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“Where is my sister?” Alec suddenly asked sharply. “We got separated, and I want to know what’s happened to her.” His question was directed at Gabriel. 

Many eyes turned accusingly in the archangel’s direction, but he was unperturbed.

“Relax, she’s probably fine.” He sounded amused.

“She better be.” Alec warned.

“Hopefully she’s in a better place than we were.” Dean said.

Alec looked alarmed, and Sam shot his brother a dark look. Dean didn’t notice; he was still glaring at Gabriel.

“What the hell was that?” Dean growled. “Sending us through a bunch of videogames?” 

“Wasn’t Princess Peach hot?” Gabriel asked, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, it could have been worse. I could have trapped you in TV Land and made George Clooney be your boss!”

Sam rolled his eyes, feeling this might actually become the standard response from now on as he pushed Dean forward. Inside, they could see Jace sprawled on the couch, eyes reflecting flickers from the TV.

“Powwow time!” Magnus trilled.

Jace gave the warlock an insolent glare as he hauled himself up into a sitting position. It didn’t take long for the loft to fill up again as Clary and Isabelle walked in, with Jo close behind them. The three girls were the only ones that needed to be called. Alec strode over to Isabelle; his worry was evident, but Isabelle was somehow sheepish.

“What happened?” his voice sharp with a typical older brother worry.

Isabelle sighed. “Honestly. I can take care of myself. No, nothing. I thought that when the mannequins came to life, that they were going to attack me.” Her tone had an odd mixture of flippancy and embarrassment. “But then the wolf-man gave me a lap dance.”

Jace gave a surprised bark of laughter, only stopped when Isabelle threatened violence. Magnus conjured the same table set as he did before, and Gabriel gave himself a lollipop, as coffee appeared beside each seat. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the girls and Jace were treated to a recap of events. Someone made the statement that everyone needed to be more forthcoming. 

“So if something jumps out at you,” Alec trailed off. “Er…just ask.”

“Awkward.” Dean muttered. 

Jace inclined his head as Magnus pretended to study his nails.

“Well…Valentine is trying to do…something.” Clary felt lame for speaking.

“Something?” Jace repeated voice caustic. 

“I’m assuming this Valentine is a person and not a holiday?” Gabriel asked. “Who is he and why should I care?” 

“Valentine was a Shadowhunter, touted as one of the greatest of all by his people.” Magnus said. “He gained a following, their number calling themselves the Circle. He meant to change-”

Jace suddenly cut him off, voice full of poison. “This is what he tried to do fifteen years ago. He instigated a rebellion, that was going to overthrow the Clave, but he failed. That hasn’t stopped him. He faked his death so he could keep trying without getting caught.” Jace stopped, unable to continue.

Alec and Isabelle exchanged worried glances, while Clary studied the knots in the table. 

“The Clave?” Jo asked.

“How’d he fail?” Sam wondered.

Their questions were asked in unison. Alec took over and when he spoke, he gave the air of a professor giving a lecture.

“The Clave is our system of government and its set of rules imposed and protected by the Inquisitor, who in turn, is supervised by the Consul, who interprets the law and advises the council and the Inquisitor.” He almost looked weary of giving this information to the hunters.

“Laws?” Jo asked.

“Yes.” He said crisply. “We have them to maintain order and our Institutes. It keeps everything running smoothly.” He paused briefly. “It’s all to protect Idris, our home country, which incidentally, no mundanes are allowed to enter.” He looked sternly at the hunters, as if to discourage any desire to go there.   
Magnus replied to Sam’s question.

“Fifteen years ago, Valentine was planning to overthrow the Clave. This was because they were about to sign a treaty with the Downworlders, and try to prevent wars from breaking out. Before this could happen, Valentine’s wife Jocelyn had went to the Clave and warned them about what was to happen. The Shadowhunters and Downworlders reluctantly joined together to stop a wholesale slaughter. When Valentine’s followers got there, they were outnumbered and arrested. Only Valentine and a few others managed to escape.” Magnus continued. “Valentine was thought to have burned to death in his house, but we now know that is a lie.”

“Pretty intense I bet?” Dean assumed.

Magnus nodded. “It was. I was there.”

“Why did they oppose the Accords?” Sam asked. 

“Because it would mean peace with Downworlders, something Valentine hates.” Jace scowled.  
“Since Valentine isn’t the Clave, he doesn’t make the rules.” Alec said. “There is still some controversy, but the Accords are updated every fifteen years.”

“So if no one wants them, what’s the point in having them?” Jo asked. “They don’t seem to work that well.” 

Clary, at least knew what she was talking about, and she was probably sure that everyone else did to. If Jo realized that she had said something potentially offensive, she didn’t comment. It was Dean who looked thoughtful now, instead of bored. He rolled his eyes at his brother, who had been leaning forward eagerly at the history. Dean started talking.

“So if Downworlders feel like they’re getting shafted, why not just team up to take you guys out?”

This made the Shadowhunters bristle, but it was almost as if they had all agreed, prior to this, not to get aggravated. Alec quickly replied.

“Because they would lose and they know it. We have Clave and Covenant. Something, I assume you hunters don’t have?” the question was more like a statement.

Dean gave a wry grin. “We all play on the same team, more or less, but there’s no league.”

Jace smirked and he and the rest of the Shadowhunters shared a look, as if to say ‘That explains a lot.’ 

Gabriel raised a hand. “I still don’t know why I should care.”

“Because.” Castiel put it, with a touch of impatience. “Valentine has stolen heavenly artifacts’ specifically, the Mortal Cup and the Soul-Sword Maellartach.”

Gabriel’s reaction was immediate as he dropped all his humor. He had actually gone pale.

“Maellartach?! The Maellartach?!”

“It would appear so.” Castiel intoned.

“Holy crap!” Gabriel yelped.

“Er…yes. Yes, I had a similar thought myself.” 

Sam looked grim. “It also sounds like Valentine is working with Lucifer.”

Gabriel snorted, but not with disbelief, and Alec and Magnus were alarmed as their companions looked at them in confusion. The Shadowhunters looked disbelieving on top of everything. Clary had a sudden flash of memory, but Jace made an inelegant sound that made her look in his direction. It didn’t stop Clary from shivering, and Gabriel was staring at Sam and Dean with undisguised shock. 

“Amazing. What is it with you two knuckleheads, huh? You are so boned, even more boned than you were before, which is really saying something.”

“Pray tell, why would that be?” Jace drawled unexpectedly. 

Gabriel regarded Jace, and there was something almost patronizing, but it went away quickly. He closed his eyes and seemed to be gathering himself. When he opened his eyes, there was some sort of faraway look in them.

“Well fine.” He sighed. “It’s’ because it’s one of the most powerful weapons we’ve got. It’s the sword given to both Michael and Lucifer.”

“Both?”

“Yup. It was made with the two of them in mind. Dad gave it to them and it was supposed to prove their bond as brothers. That we were all united.” He gave a bitter grimace. “I can see why Lucy would want it, even if it hasn’t been used in a really long time.”

They all stared at Gabriel, forcing him to continue. The archangel made a big show of having to continue.

“There wasn’t always a devil, guys. We had only one enemy back in those days. The Ancients.”

Jace looked thoughtful. “Are you referring to demons?”

“Huh? So that’s what you call them.” Gabriel remarked.

“In all honesty, they are nothing like demons.” Castiel added unhelpfully.

Gabriel continued. “Obviously not, Hell wasn’t even around yet. Anyway, Ancients were the ones we fought and protected Heaven from. That’s what all that smiting was originally for.”

“What exactly are these ancients?” Sam asked.

“Dunno really; Dad didn’t make em’.” Gabriel replied.

“They don’t have souls either.” Castiel added. “Of that much I am certain.”

“Ah.” Magus replied. “Fascinating.” 

Castiel inclined his head. “Demons are simply souls that have been warped by living in Hell. They were human once.” 

As they absorbed the exchange, Alec began to speak to Sam.

“Well, what Gabriel has been calling Ancients, are things that we know about. We’ve called them demons out of convenience because they don’t belong in this world. They are at best, inter-dimensional beings that move from world to world, draining worlds dry. Think of them as locusts, and now they have come to this world. We’re the only ones who can stop them. We aren’t able to attack them from wherever they come from, or prevent them from entering our plane, but we can kill them as soon as they appear.”

This was met with silence as the hunters absorbed this fact. It was a good deal of information, and then it would simply become just another monster to hunt down. Jo was ready with another question. 

“People don’t notice them because…?” 

“There are many things mundanes can’t see.” Jace said. “We can because of what we are, which is why we’re the only ones that can fight them.” 

The hunters looked a bit doubtful at this, but before they could say anything, Clary unexpectedly piped up. 

“Wait-if angels are the enemies of ancients, is that why seraph blades and steles’ work?” she asked, already theorizing. 

Castiel and Gabriel looked at her askance, and Alec pulled out a slim tube and an even slimmer wand-like object.

“She means these.” Alec turned to Clary. “You’re probably right, that is a plausible explanation.” 

“Do you think that’s why people say vampires are damned?” she asked voice just small enough to cause concern.

Sam looked ready to say something, but Jace beat him to it. 

“Probably. After all, he is a downworlder, so it would make sense.”

Clary was crestfallen, but nodded all the same. There was still room for confusion, however, so the conversation continued.

“What do you mean?” asked Jo.

Jace gave her a slightly condescending look. “You hunt them, and you don’t even know how they came about?” he sighed. “Downworlders are part demon, part human. When demons first attacked mundanes, their wounds caused strange changes in the victims. For example werewolves and vampires-”

“Are infections.” Dean said. 

Jace looked annoyed at the interruption, but nodded. “Warlocks are born the way they are, and faeries are the offspring of angels and demons.”

This was meet was met with reactions of disgust from Gabriel and Castiel.

“Don’t wanna meet the SOB who did that.” Gabriel sneered.

“Wait.” Jo held up a hand. “This has been bugging me for a while now. At the Dumort and then at the cemetery.”

Clary listened avidly; it seemed the same thing had been bothering both of them. Now what she overheard was finally going to make sense. 

“That is not how vampires turn. Or how sunlight nearly killed them and holy water worked. All that lore is crap. The only way to kill them is cut off their heads, and they can be weakened by dead mans’ blood. Turning only takes a few hours, and they certainly don’t need to be buried for it.” She stated. 

“Well your lore needs some work.” Isabelle spoke up dryly. 

It could have gone on for a bit more, but Gabriel and Magnus exchanged amused glances. Magnus clapped his hands for attention and Gabriel heaved a melodramatic sigh.

“Guys.” He called, holding up a hand. “Two versions. Both true. Ancients screwed up a lot of things, and Downworlders are real because of them. So are what those guys-” he pointed to the hunters. “Hunt. It works both ways.” 

“So each set of monsters originated from different sources, which is why they are different?” Sam asked. 

“Bingo.”

“OK fine, but why haven’t we come across em’ before?” Dean asked.

Jace gave him a withering look. “We haven’t heard of yours either.”

Clary spoke again. “Oh I think I know this. Shadowhunters have institutes, which sound more like outposts to Idris, the home front, but institutes are only in really big cities, so Shadowhunters can take care of them. The demons, sorry, ancients can’t be seen and Downworlders usually keep to themselves. Plus, Shadowhunters keep them in line.”

“That,” Magnus seconded, “and both sides probably aren’t noticing the signs of the other, since they won’t be looking for them.” 

“Guess that kills my apocalypse theory.” Sam said.

“Ah well, it sucked anyway.” Dean pointed out. 

Sam rolled his eyes, but he looked speculative. “Huh. So that’s why Cas took one look at the faeries and nearly hulked out.” This was met with stares. “What? Dean was right; you were acting weird.”

Castiel suddenly looked embarrassed. He addressed Magnus with contrition.

“I must apologize for my behavior when we first met. I had no understanding of that compulsion." 

Magnus waved it away. “No worries.” He jerked a thumb at Gabriel. “He was the same way when we first met.”

“How did you two meet anyway?” Alec asked, somewhat peevishly. 

Gabriel spared Alec only a single glance, but he and Magnus stared at each other again. They smiled as if remembering an old joke.

“Ah that.” Magnus said softly, unable to stifle a grin.

“That.” Gabriel pretended to be thoughtful. “That is a long, boring story that requires no elaboration what so ever.”

This weirded the others out, which was probably Magnus and Gabriel’s intention all along.

“Alec.” Castiel spoke. “I am curious to know more about your weaponry.” He stated.

Alec blinked. “Oh. Alright.”

Alec pulled out a slender tube and a wand-like instrument. He pointed to the latter first.

“We call this a stele. They write out the runes we use.”

“The language I saw.” Castiel stated. “It is similar to Enochian.”

“The language of Heaven?” Alec asked. 

“Yes. We have spoken and written it since the beginning.” 

“Fascinating.” Alec breathed. “We use our runes for just about anything, and they leave these.”

Alec held up his arm. The hunters had to squint to see anything definite, but Castiel could see them clearly. They were scars, white and thin, crisscrossing over each other many times over. They had the same shape and lines as some of the runes Castiel had already seen before. He could still faintly read what they used to say. It wasn’t the scars, however, that got the hunters attention; they had some of their own. No, it was the thick lines that look painted on the skin. Swirling, and complex patterns that looked weaved onto the skin, like they had been etched in ink. Castiel read them; each one had a specific purpose, promising balance and speed. Castiel let his hands grip Sam and Dean’s arms, and managed to brush his fingers against Jo’s sleeve. It gave the three a better glimpse at what they were seeing, and they peered at the lines. 

Jace looked on with amused disdain at their scrutiny, Isabelle bored, and Alec faintly embarrassed. Clary couldn’t blame them; no one liked being gawked at, but at the same time, she remembered how it felt when she first met the Lightwoods and just how fascinated she was at the inky black runes that contrasted so sharply with Jace’s golden skin…

“Only Shadowhunters can wear these. Mundanes simply can’t handle getting marks, and if they do, they lose their minds and become monsters, or what we call Forsaken. On us, they simply leave scars; our badges of honor.”

Alec did indeed sound proud when he said that. He put the stele down and held up the slender tube. It was a pale grey color and looked cool to the touch.

“This is a seraph blade. Their power is drawn from the invocation of an angelic name. We name them, and they are the only things that can kill demons.”

Castiel was absorbing this. “I find this all strange. I can feel an energy about all of you, and your instruments. When you used your seraph blade I felt it; they do seem to be alive somehow, but you have no grace yourself so-”

Gabriel groaned. “Oh come on, can’t you tell bro’? They’re Nephilim.” 

Castiel nodded, but still looked shocked. “I had a theory, but I’m still not sure how it is possible.”

“After everything we’ve seen?” Dean asked.

“Hey I don’t know how it happened either.” Gabriel defended his brother. “It was like one day, poof here they are.” 

“I’m a little surprised you don’t know this.” Magnus mused, mostly to himself.

“I haven’t been upstairs in a long time. Extended vacation.” Gabriel reminded him. 

“Point taken.” Magnus conceded. “Well according to legend, one thousand years ago a man named Jonathan Shadowhunter had summoned the Angel Raziel and asked for his aid.”

Dean snorted. The Shadowhunters shot him dark looks, but he did nothing to apologize. Sam elbowed him and Magnus continued. 

“Legend varies on how he had done so, or who was with him when he had done this, but all sources agree that Raziel did appear before him. He told the Angel of mankind’s plight and his desire to lessen it. The Angel gave him a cup, mixing his own blood with that of Jonathan Shadowhunter, and Raziel gave it to him to drink.”

Sam and Dean looked disgusted at this, with Sam quickly looking away. Clary couldn’t blame them; she didn’t really want to think about blood anytime soon. She didn’t really want to see anyone’s reaction right now.

“That is how Jonathan Shadowhunter became the first Shadowhunter, or rather, Nephilim. It has been passed down onto his children and their children, and so on. Nephilim consider it a sacred duty to destroy demon kind while safeguarding humankind and to keep Downworlders in line.”

“So that’s how they got their hands on Maellartach.” Gabriel said after a length.

He said Maellartach with an odd inflection, like the leftovers of some out of place accent.

“Did you ever know Raziel?” Magnus asked.

“Hmm?” Gabriel snapped back to attention. “Not personally no. Although that explains a lot; if that happened just one thousand years ago, it makes sense that no one really heard of Nephilim.”

“Let me guess.” Dean said. “‘God has left the building.’” He quoted.

Gabriel’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t comment.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if senior management wanted to keep them hushed up.” He said. 

His words were said lightly enough, but there was something ominous about the words themselves and the Shadowhunters kept glancing at each other. Jace in particular was regarding this with sharp eyes. Gabriel seemed to remember something and spoke again.

“So Maellartach. If my brothers, either of them, get a hold of this thing, its game over.” 

“Right.” Jace said. “About that, why should we be so certain about the devil getting a hold of the Soul-Sword? Last time I checked, Valentine is the one who stole it.”

Gabriel met Jace’s gold gaze with a clinical stare. Jace clenched his jaw at the look; it was somehow invasive, but it was over as quickly as it happened and the somewhat satisfied look was enough to make Jace want to hit him.

“Because I just took a peak in your noggin’; the person with the black eyes?” Gabriel watched Jace suppress a wince. “Yeah, that was a demon. That’s what people look like when their possessed. My bro’ uses em’ as flunkies, so he’d know about the sword.”

“So Valentine is working with the devil? Well no surprises there.” Isabelle huffed.

“The devil-Lucifer is really real?” Clary finally asked, sounding both apprehensive and skeptical. 

“Yes.” Sam answered. “I know it’s hard to take in, but yeah it’s real.”

Clary stared at Sam for a moment, before leaning back in her seat.

“So all your talk about the apocalypse is because of this?” Jace asked, sharp with scrutiny. “Isn’t that a bit much? The world doesn’t really need Lucifer’s help with that.”

Dean nodded in wry agreement. “Well it’s happening.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers suddenly and Dean flinched, when nothing seemed to happen, he relaxed. Jace looked amused at the reaction an opened his mouth. There was a loud, obnoxious squeak, as though a brightly colored toy had been stepped on. It was the kind of sound that was usually associated with pets and small children, and it was coming from Jace. He tried to speak again and the sound came out in place of words.

Jace squeaked several times and quite a few individuals had to suppress sniggers. Jace went a bit pink, but accepted it with grace; he squeaked out a few replies that probably needed no translation. 

Isabelle turned to Gabriel. “What does that prove?” she sound both amused and exasperated.

“Nothing.” Gabriel said airily. 

Jace squeaked out something. His expression was deadly serious, which was at horrendous odds with the cartoony sounds.

“Sorry what was that?”

“Oh just change him back already!’ Isabelle snapped.

“-I said how does Lucifer affect the apocalypse?” Jace rasped.

“He will fight his brother Michael on the battlefield to catastrophic effect.” Castiel’s voice was scraping with grave fact.

“The battlefield being Earth,” Dean supplied. “Their showdown will roast the planet and they don’t care who gets in the way.”

Jace’s face twisted in bitterness. “So you think the devil’s going to win.” It was a statement.

“Not if we can help it.” Sam’s voice was filled with determination. 

Clary wasn’t sure who Sam was reminding her of at that moment, but she felt an odd thrill go through her; this was real, really real. A gut feeling like this couldn’t be ignored, but she did have one question which surprised her with its intensity.

“Why does it have to be you guys?” she asked. “It’s not like Nephilim; you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes we do.” Dean replied.

“Besides,” Sam started.

Clary’s gut feeling intensified; she felt like she was about to know some horrible secret. Almost like knowing the rug was about to be pulled out from under your feet in the micro-second before it happened. She wasn’t sure how much more weirdness she could take in today, or her life. Just how much could she handle before she exploded from the strangeness. Clary grabbed her forearm, rubbing the blackened mark for reassurance. Sam started speaking again.

“Besides, it’s because we started it.” His voice was shaking. “It’s our fault, we started the apocalypse. Releasing Lucifer from his prison triggered it. I’m not proud of what I did and maybe it’s arrogant to think we can take it back, but it’s better than sitting back and watching the world burn.”

Clary shivered at the intensity and she thought she could taste his guilt. She could tell that’s what it was; it was obvious. Clary could understand all of it; something about the pain, the way it charged the air made her almost want to step back and stay far away from them. Clary twisted her ankles around her chair to keep herself from actually doing so. She pressed her hand harder to her forearm. Clary stole peeks at the others; to say they looked uncomfortable would be an understatement, but she assumed they all felt the same. The oppressive atmosphere made everything go silent and she saw Jace give the two men an expression she couldn’t really decipher, but somehow similar to Dean's. 

Clary looked at Dean, who was boldly looking at them, as if daring the other. Clary had a flash of insight; he was protecting his brother, as good as a physical shield, and then another insight came to her. They would not go into the details, not even if they were begged.

Gabriel’s chair scraped abrasively as he abruptly stood up. Everyone jumped; he moved to the door.

“Wait!”

He turned expectantly. 

“You’re an angel!” Alec blurted out.

“Umm duh.”

“So you could help.” Clary nodded rapidly. “Just go back and ask for reinforcements or something.”

“Not happening.” Dean said.

Clary wondered if her shock was visible. 

“They knew the danger of Lucifer breaking free of his prison and they did nothing.” Castiel said.

“Means’ they wanted this to happen.” Dean said, anger making his voice shake.

Jace looked at Dean, and he could almost feel the irony spreading on his face. Somehow he could not muster any effort to feel surprised. He suddenly remembered the night Clary asked him if he believed in God. Jace failed to suppress derisive laughter; did this mean that he should repent? He resisted the bizarre, out of place urge to sympathize with Dean. 

Jace turned to look at Gabriel, almost in a last ditch effort for assurance. The archangel made a shrugging motion, as if to say ‘hey, what are you gonna do?’ Jace felt he disgust rise in his chest.

“Pretty much.” said Gabriel.

“So you could-” Alec called out. “We could-”

Jace could see the shock on Alec’s face; he knew his foster brother thought Gabriel’s reaction was a slap in the face, and suddenly Jace was angry on Alec’s behalf.

“Look.” Gabriel cut Alec off. “I don’t put too much stock in some bright eyed brats from the big apple. Even if they know a friend.” He inclined his head to Magnus.

Sam watched the exchange with an odd tight feeling in his gut. Asking Gabriel was pointless, and it took him a moment to realize that he somehow had gotten his hopes up. Gabriel listened to them, even been congenial in his own twisted way, but Sam remembered when he lost his temper and that was sleeping beneath the archangel. Sam blinked in response to a sharp pang inside him. 

Dean was looking at Gabriel with a mixture of anger and disgust. “You’re an asshole you know that?”

Gabriel gave him a smug smile. “It’s so flattering that you’d notice.”

The temperature changed suddenly, and Sam thought back on Alec’s words; conversations jumbling up and together. 

'Standing up to family is hard.'

'C’ome on, am I the only one who wants to be over?'

'Why does it have to be you guys?'

It was more than sadness, less than understanding, and something different from pity. He didn’t know what it was, only that it was giving him a headache to try and figure it out. Sam had no idea what the look on his face was, or why that seemed to matter, but before he knew it, or could help it, he voiced his question to Gabriel.

“What happened to you up there?”

Was it horror or fascination in his voice? Gabriel blinked, almost with shock, as though he had never been asked that before. Something flashed behind his eyes before being replaced with a very obvious anger.

“None of your damn business.”

Sam was taken aback by the vehemence of the response.

“Screw this noise.”

Gabriel disappeared. They stared at the spot where he had been just a second before. Magnus grimaced, suddenly looking ancient. The silence weighed down like humidity. Clary watched Sam and Dean look at each other as if they might be gathering themselves and brushing dust from their clothes. Dean gave Sam an ‘I told you so’ look, which Sam replied with a weary shrug. There was something in Sam’s eyes that confused her, but she brushed it aside. She could see Castiel was staring at the bare spot with sadness.

Almost as if Clary couldn’t help it, her eyes invariably drew her to Jace. His expression was intense and closed off, as if lost in thought. He seemed to sense her staring and looked straight back at her, suddenly boring into her. Clary turned away as if burned. She didn’t see his flinch of pain or his aggrieved expression.

“Well,” he said. “Who’s up for Parcheesi?” 

His light, but forced tone snapped everyone out of it, and they sat back into their chairs, almost like puppets.

“So if we wanna take down Lucifer, we gotta get the sword.” Jo hedged.

“Seems like it.” Sam replied.

“How do you intend to do that?” asked Jace. “Just shoot him?” his voice as filled with sarcasm.

“Yeah actually.” Dean snapped. “Got any bright ideas chuckles?”

Jace sneered, but before he could reply, Magnus held up a hand. Clary was relieved; it stopped the beginnings of an argument. 

“Enough.”

“Magnus is right. If it really is a case of Valentine working with the Devil, then we need to take this seriously.” Alec pointed out.

“How?” Isabelle asked. “How can it be done?” there was a briskness in her tone, all business mode.

“Stopping Valentine first right?” asked Clary. 

“Where is this Valentine?” Castiel asked.

“We don’t know.” Magnus said. “I’ve used a tracking spell, but so far nothing.”

“Everything hinges on the conversion ritual…” Clary mused. “So what can we do to stop him from murdering people?” 

“Well, its kids’ right?” Jo asked. “Downworlder children.”

"Technically, anyone who is below the age of eighteen so yes.” Isabelle replied.

“Well I doubt a curfew would work.” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah.” Dean agreed readily. “It’d be too easy to ignore.”

“Actually, it’s not a bad idea.” Alec said.

Jace turned to look at him. “How? By locking them in their rooms?”

Alec was aggrieved, but before he could reply, Jo beat him with to the punch.

“How about making up a list of who the targets could be?” she suggested.

“That’ll take a while.” Isabelle said, looking doubtful. “A list of all the Downworlder minors in New York City?”

“Valentine will kill them before that happens.” Jace said. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like he’s going to drive out to Yonkers to pick someone.” Clary snapped.

“It does seem to be difficult,” Alec said, but he continued at Clary’s look. “But it’s better than nothing.”

“Plus its’ only vampires and werewolves.” Jo said.

Jace snorted at that, but agreed all the same.

“I’ll talk to Luke.” Clary quickly explained who that was. “Then he can talk to the Lightwoods’.” 

“We can tell Mom about it when we get back.” Isabelle said, voice delicate, as though she was trying very hard not to crush something underfoot. She gave Jace a brief smile. “She can talk to Raphael.”

“Question.” Jace raised a finger. “Just what do you plan on telling Maryse? The whole truth? Because, no offense, but it’s a bit much to swallow, even for us.” 

Dean shrugged. “None taken.”

“He does have a point.” Alec said.

“Just say the list idea.” Clary insisted. “We’ll worry about the rest later.” 

“So, we’re really doing this? Working together I mean?” Jo asked.

Jace waved a hand as if to say ‘sure why not’, and there were some terse nods; Magnus gave a half-smile, which spoke for him. Jo visibly relaxed, and Dean looked ready to tease her for it. Jo gestured for a cell phone and Sam handed his over. Jo stood up and walked away from the table, quickly dialing. Sam was looking toward her, while Dean studiously ignored Jace and his Lightwood siblings, who began to speak in low tones that were clearly not meant for Dean’s ears.

“Is this a good idea?” Alec asked. “Allying ourselves with mundanes?” 

Isabelle was impatient. “Why not?”

Jace sighed. “You saw their trunk. They have weapons, so I think they figure they might know what they’re doing. Crazy as he-”

Alec furiously interrupted him. “Exactly! Mundane weapons, which won’t do much good against a demon, let alone Valentine!”

“Then why didn’t you speak up before?” Jace asked.

Alec, to his credit, colored slightly. “Because I didn’t want to be insulting.”

Isabelle asked again. “Why not? This could be helpful.”

“Because it sounds as if they don’t have any rules. You heard him, ‘no league’.”

“That might be a good thing.” Jace spoke up, voice strange.

Alec was almost aghast, but there was a look of understanding in his eyes. Isabelle had a look of almost pity, but there was something fierce about her gaze. They looked like a family.

“Jace.” Alec began. 

“Not having to deal with…” Jace was unable to voice the rest of his thoughts as his eyes darkened.

“Jace.” Alec stated, simply to say the name.

“Don’t.” Jace said. “Besides,”

Not it was Alec’s turn to cut him off. “They could get seriously hurt, and besides,” he put quotations on ‘besides’. “You told me about what happened in the Faerie Court. Imagine what disaster could have occurred if Dean had pulled the trigger. Jace, the rules are there for a reason. Just because there is one unpleasant person doesn’t mean that the whole-”

“Enough.” Jace snapped. “I understand what you’re telling me.”

Jace stared fiercely back at Alec, who did not shy away. Alec was almost pleading with his gaze, but something in the way Jace sat prevented either sibling from touching him, or moving any closer. Jace’s face was cooling into a hard mask and his gold eyes turned inward, which made Alec look all the sadder. He flicked his eyes to Isabelle, knowing they needed to change the subject.

“Either way.” Isabelle said. “Their idea about the lists is worth trying.”

“What will we tell mom?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “That it was our idea of course.”

Jace snorted. “I don’t think she’d believe us, and I know the Inquisitor won’t.”

Before either could reply, Jo snapped the phone shut with an audible click. She handed the phone back to Sam, and then addressed the group.

“That was my mom. She’ll be here by tomorrow at the latest.” Jo stated. “She also said that Bobby will be on standby and he’s been trying to get a hold of Rufus and a couple of others.”

“Hunting runs in the family huh?” Jace inquired with a slight leer.

Jo gave him a tight smile. “You’d be surprised.” 

At the same time, Alec and Sam began to speak. Sam waved away Alec’s offer to let him go first. Alec cleared his throat.

“I’m not sure exactly how you plan on killing the devil.” 

Dean was more than willing to answer the question. He quickly stood up and went for something in his bag. He came back to the table, and set down the gun as he sat back down. Gleaming and deadly, the engraved words were like a promise. 

Alec exhaled softly. “I thought you were being sarcastic.”

“Nope.” Dean pointed at the gun. “There’s an old legend about this gun. It was made by Samuel Colt in 1835, and when it was first made, it came with thirteen bullets. This gun can kill anything.”

His hand was resting next to it, but Clary had a feeling that he could bring it in his hands with just one movement. She remembered the reactions of the fey in the Seelie Court and now understood their reaction better. Maybe not all of them knew it for being something other than iron and death, but the Seelie Queen sure knew what it was.

“Well all myths are true.” Jace said with a shrug. 

“Yes.” Magnus stepped in. “Now, I hope nobody came here just for the chest thumping.” He turned to the Shadowhunters. “You may not consider it need to know, but there are quite a few who know of the Shadow World, so to speak. These aren’t the only hunters out there.” Magnus turned to the hunters. “Humility isn’t a strong suit of the Nephilim. Although I doubt that it is yours either.”

“Fair enough.” Sam replied.

Jace shrugged with insolence, as if he didn’t deny the statement, but his eyes were penetrating and unafraid to meet Dean’s eyes. There was a challenge in the younger man’s eyes; the gold was bright and hard. Dean didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look particularly upset either. He seemed to be resigned to the scrutiny, and he continued to evaluate with his green eyes. Alec looked at them with a thoughtful, if grim expression. Isabelle only glanced at their contest and she instead looked at Jo. She tilted her chin imperiously, but there was curiosity in her expression. Out of all of them, she studied Jo the most. As a fellow female who was surrounded by men, it made Isabelle curious as to what the hunter could do. Isabelle felt she was being examined as critically as she was doing; or at the very least, meeting Isabelle’s gaze with a steady one of her own. The blonde dressed more plainly Isabelle did, but she was pretty, in an unexpected way. She was curvy, but not as tall as Isabelle. Isabelle wondered if Jo made men nervous. She wondered if that was why Simon let her follow him, or if there were a deeper reason. That made her think of The Dumort, and how Jo managed to come out of there alive when Simon could not. Isabelle honestly didn’t know Jo’s skill level, and that bothered her; did being the only female in a field dominated by men mean that they had something in common? 

Castiel seemed confused with by all the confrontation that was going around the room. He glanced at Dean, and then met the eyes of Clary, who had been staring at Jace. When she tore her gaze away from Jace, she looked at Castiel and the two stared at one another. Clary gave him a tight smile and Castiel was curious about the oddness of her expression, and he could sense something about her was different from her fellow Nephilim. He tilted his head in puzzlement; Clary almost giggled at the mannerism, but she seemed to sense someone else looking at her. It was Jace, and Clary flushed, lowering her eyes to the table. Jace swiveled his head, and Clary avoided his gaze.

Annoyed at the end of the staring contests, Jace scowled, and Sam elbowed his brother in exasperation. Jo and Isabelle leaned back in their seats and waited for whatever was coming next. Clary broke the spell by speaking.

“Well, I’m going to tell Luke about this. I’ll help him make the list; he’ll call the Institute soon and work it out.”

Isabelle looked at her. “Well I guess that’s my cue to go too.”

They broke up their meeting rather quickly, chairs scraping as people tried to keep out of each other’s way. Clary left with Isabelle, not glancing back at anyone, least of all Jace. Alec quickly strode forward to follow them, evading Magnus’s outstretched hand. He murmured something to his sister, too low for Clary to hear, but she moved quickly out of the way, feeling Jace’s eyes on her the entire way.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary hurried out as soon as she could down to the subway. Clary’s mind was racing with all that had been said and what was still a mystery. She really hoped Luke was home, because she was bursting with the knowledge she carried. 

Clary moved through familiar streets, heart pounding. Seeing Luke’s place, she took the steps two at a time and Clary felt her hands struggle with the door knob.

“Hello?” Anyone home?” she called.

“In here.”

Clary walked into the small kitchen. Luke was sitting beside the small circular table, a cup of coffee held in between his hands. He looked tired and worn, and there was stubble that Clary was sure hadn’t been there yesterday. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and there was weariness in his being, but when he saw Clary he smiled, and it made his expression all better. 

Luke was not alone in the kitchen. Leaning against the counter with dark, watchful eyes was Simon. He didn’t look particularly happy either, but that cleared slightly when he saw her. Clary shivered; she used to be able to read Simon, but now she just couldn’t anymore. Was it his vampirism? He seemed so different now, and Clary missed him with a fierce ache that was startling in its intensity, and Clary mentally shook herself, trying to dislodge the feeling. Simon was still in one piece and standing right there. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He finally gave her a smile.

She wanted to ask him how he was getting on, but that seemed stupid. She hadn’t seen him since the night he had turned and Luke had driven him home. Clary and Jace were with them and she cried the whole way there, unable to draw any comfort. She flinched away from Jace’s touch and unwilling to bring herself to pull away. She had hurt Simon by doing that. Clary would not let anything else happen to Simon, something she should have been doing the entire time. Jace’s words couldn’t, shouldn’t matter. For Simon the boy she… 

Clary looked at the two of them, affection bursting suddenly in her chest and she just as suddenly didn’t want to tell them her news. It was almost too much for her and she knew it would change everything. Both of them were looking carefully at her, and Clary wondered if she looked as grave as she felt.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked.

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” Clary nearly babbled. “Like, really. People say that, but now I know what they mean.”

Clary went up to the cupboard to get a glass and filled it with water. She took a sip before speaking. She told them what happened that day, starting with the call everyone got about the Pandemonium, meeting another angel, the reveal of the apocalypse, the story of demons and the sword, and Valentine’s supposed partnership with the devil. Everything that had been exchanged at Magnus’s place and Clary even backtracked to a few days prior, just to cover all her bases. 

When she was finally finished, there was a shocked silence. Luke and Simon had matching expressions of incredulity and maybe just a trace of fear. Clary was amazed at herself when she shrugged in response.

“I know right? But I think it’s the truth.”

“Wow.” Simon breathed. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“Yeah.” Clary nodded.

“Well.” Luke paused, shaking his head. “One thing at a time. Drawing up a list of downworlders will take some time, so we’ll start with that. I’ll call up the pack and give the list to Maryse as soon as I can, which might make it easier for her to accept.”

Luke sounded as if he were holding something back.

“Why would it be easier to accept?” Simon asked probably to get to a safer topic.

Luke hesitated briefly and just gave them another comment.

“It will be difficult because the downworlders will be hard pressed to cooperate.”

“Or maybe because some else had the idea.” Simon muttered.

Luke looked close to agreeing as Clary shot Simon an annoyed look, but she didn’t press the point as she stated loudly.

“Well why wouldn’t they? We have to stop Valentine, so who cares how it gets done?” 

Luke sighed warily, running a hand through his hair and suddenly he looked very old. Clary felt a twinge of regret; danger seemed to be following them wherever they went and it didn’t look like it would let up any time soon. Simon looked at them both and made an odd shrugging motion.

“So…apocalypse? Is that related to Valentine, who just happened to be working with the devil? The Devil?”

Simon didn’t wait for a reply. Clary had a feeling that he was more inclined to believe her than Luke.

“Just when I thought things couldn’t get weirder. I just want things to be normal again.”

Clary grimaced. “I don’t think that’ll happen soon. Weird seems to be going around.” She paused. “I’ve been meaning to say, but I think I should get some marks. I am a Shadowhunter after all.”

“What?” Simon asked, sounding shocked.

Luke looked up from his search for pencil and paper in surprise at Simon’s tone. Clary wasn’t quite indignant, but Simon’s tone had put her on edge. Maybe it was some hidden sharpness beneath it, a sort of disturbed quality. It added to her already tight nerves, so she spoke more harshly than intended.

“Why not? I need protection, the more the better. All these things won’t leave me alone if I just pretend it doesn’t exist.” Clary shifted, pulling out and holding up her stele. “This used to be my mother’s and it the only thing that was ever really real about her and she didn’t even give it to me. Luke did.”

It was silent; Luke was watching them carefully, with sad cloudy eyes. Simon slumped, looking contrite. 

Simon nodded. “I just thought you’d want to be normal.” He whispered.

“Normal is overrated.” Clary countered.

Simon looked at her in a way that suggested he would like to say something. He took a barely audible breath; Clary waited for whatever unpredictable thing he was going to say. Simon swallowed down whatever he was going to say, and replied with this instead. 

“Really? I’ll never have normal again. I’ll even miss school.”

Simon’s simple reply knocked the breath out of Clary. It was all her fault.

She was aghast. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Simon shook it off hurriedly. “I know. I know you didn’t. I just-” Simon broke off, and when he was able to continue, his voice was strained. “I just don’t know what to do. I have to stay indoors all the time; my mom thinks I’m sick. She keeps bringing me food, and I have to throw it away. What’ll happen when she takes me to a doctor? They’ll see that I don’t have a heartbeat and then what? What about school or band practice, or-" he choked on his words. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh Simon.” Clary breathed, unable to say anything else.

Luke stopped his search and put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. Luke’s hand was huge against Simon’s body, making him seem smaller and much younger than he actually was. Simon looked up at Luke, eyes wide as a doe’s and far darker than Clary remembered them to be. They had always been a coffee brown, a burst of color when seen up close, now they seemed even deeper and more lustrous than before. 

Simon stared back at Luke; the older man’s face was filled with anguish for the younger, as if remembering his own sadness. His grip on Simon looked tight, but Simon didn’t protest, almost as if he wanted it. Simon seemed to crave an anchor. Luke’s face was not filled with pity, but filled with understanding. There was something else, almost as if he was frightened for Simon, and what he would have to endure.

“You should tell your family.” Luke quietly urged. “It’ll be hard, but it’s something you have to do.”

“How?” Simon’s voice was small, cracking under a huge weight. “I’ll have to convince them vampires are real before I can say I am them.” He added, “Did you? Tell your family, I mean.” 

Luke’s grave eyes, filled with more sorrow. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

His voice held something glass-like in his voice, but it was oddly finite; supportive, but somehow the subject seemed taboo, even if he didn’t want it to be that way.

“We’ll come with you.” Clary blurted out. “If-if you want.”

Simon looked at her, his vulnerability hitting her in the face. His stunned expression took her by surprise; he looked like he did when he was small and Clary had offered to share her favorite toy when his broke.

“Really?”

She flashed back to the time when they first held hands as children. Clary suddenly felt like crying.  
“Of course.”

Simon stared back at her, and then suddenly ducked his head, nodding rapidly.

“Thank you.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
The Hunter’s Moon was jammed packed that night; lycanthropes from different parts of the city came together. There was her pack of course, the ones that lived in the abandoned police station that mundanes believed to be an old Chinese take-out place. It was where they spent the nights when they didn’t have to change, hanging out with the only family that they now had. That’s what lycanthropes did; wherever they came from didn’t matter anymore, no matter what someone’s past was, they were welcome. She liked the one she had. Luke was the best leader they had so far, since pack leaders came and went, but so far Luke was her favorite. He was nice and not too handsome that she wouldn’t be able to trust him, and he was steady. Whenever they had to change, roaming through the city, there was nothing to fear. Then they’d come here, to Freaky Pete’s bar to drink away the pain of their transformations. She was glad she got to meet so many people; as long as you turned furry and got down on all fours once a month, you were welcome.

“Hey Maia.”

Maia turned and saw Bat. He may not have been one of the overnighters, were who slept in the police station, but he was a familiar face. Bat was a tall guy, nearly over seven feet, with thick muscles all over. She remembered those muscles; once upon a time they had dated. That was all over now, but they had still managed to be friends, and wherever they went they could still turn heads. 

They may have looked similar in a way; lycanthropes tended to have signs of what they were, of hard living, but other than that they were a study in contrasts. Bat was tall and buff. Maia, who was compact and curvy. Her dusky, honey colored skin was darker than his, which was barely tanned. Maia’s hair was thick and curly, braided into tiny rows, whereas Bat was bald. He had multiple tattoos and piercings, but Maia had only adorned herself with homemade bands of jewelry. They both had scars, however; Bat had a large melted welt on the side of his face. He said he had gotten it from silver powder, burned into his skin from an old fight. Maia’s was a long jagged cut that started at her throat and ended on her shoulder. It came from the bite that turned her into a werewolf.

“Here”

Bat was holding two tall glasses of something dark and foamy. She took one with a grin of thanks. She was just glad no one asked her to dance; she wasn’t really in the mood for a rough, sweaty night.  
“Crowded tonight huh?” Bat said. “Think someone will have a party after this?”

“Maybe.” Maia wouldn’t mind if that were true.

Maia scanned the crowd. She could see the thick toughened bodies of werewolves mingling with each other. Her girlfriends Amabel and Éclair were talking to a group of men with hearty blushes. She recognized a few of Bat’s drinking buddies from their old hang outs. They greeted Bat with raucous shouts. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a delicate looking lycanthrope boy wearing a leather jacket speaking to Freaky Pete, the bartender. The boys said something and Freaky Pete laughed as the boy made his way to the door.

“-Yeah, take it easy Joseph.” Freaky Pete called.

Maia took another swig of her drink as a broad shouldered man caught her eye and grinned. She raised an eyebrow in wry surprise. The man made his way over to her, easily wading through the crowd. Maia didn’t recognize him. 

“Hey.” He said when he got close. He had a very deep voice.

He was nearly as tall as Bat, his body managing to be both broad and slim. He was a wearing red dress shirt underneath his thick looking dark jacket. His shirt was open at the collar, skin showing, with a small scar peeking through. It was lighter than the rest of his skin, which was smooth as a girl’s, even on his chest. The hair he did have was a rich auburn, waving all the way down to his nape. He had a small goatee that somehow managed to be pulled off. When he smiled at her again, Maia could see he had very white teeth. He was handsome, in a way. Not too handsome that it put her on edge. His features weren’t what would pass for conventional beauty. He was probably considered good looking because of his personality, which seemed nice.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

His eyes unsubtly raked her up and down. Maia, unabashed, did the same. She was still deciding on him. Bat must have sensed her hesitation because he moved closer to both her and the redhead.

“She’s already got one.”

The redhead’s eyes wavered along, with his smile, but he didn’t move. He gave Maia a rakish wink. Inside, she fluttered a bit, but she didn’t let it on as Bat on the redhead sized each other up.

“But her glass is empty.” He pointed.

His voice was innocent as a boy’s, but deep as a man’s and his eyes, which were a rich hazel, were filled to the brim with mischief. Maia had to hold back a laugh. She rolled her eyes as the two men stared at each other. The redhead didn’t look like he wanted to cause trouble, but wouldn’t mind being in the middle of some. 

After the night that the Shadowhunter boy tore up the Hunter’s Moon and picked a fight with the entire pack was something she’d never forget. Bat wouldn’t either. Bat was one of the many who charged in for a chance to put the boy in his place, but had gotten trounced for his trouble. Ever since then, Bat had been itching to fight someone to boost his pride, and this redheaded man looked like just that someone. 

If Maia was in a flirtier mood, she’d be a bit more willing to let them fight. A part of her wanted to watch the two powerful men fight each other, it was one of those things weres did best. However, Maia just wasn’t feeling it tonight. She set down her glass, and ignoring the two guys’ looks, walked away from them with a sway in her hips. Maia waved goodbye to Freaky Pete and tugged open the door.

The early autumn air swirled around her face. She blew out a sigh and felt the chill seep into her skin. Maia shut the door behind her, losing the warmth and the loud sounds of the bar. Looking up, she could see the moon hanging in the sky. It was almost full, meaning Maia’s senses were sharpening themselves in preparation. The moon was higher in the sky than the steel of the city, which weaved themselves beneath the night, large crosses of metal that offset the ethereal of what was above them. It was oddly beautiful, to see the grime on the ground, oil-riddled rain water glimmering with the moon’s reflection. Graffiti scrawled all over the stone of the walls. The tagging was recent, so the colors were bright as blood on snow. Trash made a cacophony of sound as it moved in the breeze and swirled at her feet. A half empty beer bottle came to rest at her feet, its glass surface glinted from the moonlight, which lit the liquid inside the bottle, and making the liquor look as thick and bright as precious amber. 

The scent of iron was everywhere, overwhelming her with its industrial scent; it was a heavy stench, almost familiar. Now the chilled wind raised the hairs on her neck and the breeze carried a faint sound that she had to strain to hear over the teeming traffic just beyond her.

There was a faint gurgling and an excited growling beside it. Maia wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved or alarmed. It sounded as though she was about to walk in on a pair of lycanthropes that couldn’t wait for anything more private. It was time to leave. Maia pushed herself away from the wall. Her foot touched the glass bottle, sending it spinning. It finally stopped by the other wall, the sound clattering and echoing. The strange noises suddenly stopped. The bottle shimmered in the half light of moon and shadow, light glittering on its surface. Maia peered into the darkness; she could see a figure crouched over someone else, who was writhing on the ground. Maia felt the heat come up into her face, and underneath her embarrassment she could feel something else trembling. The figure looked up. Whoever it was was still in shadow and she was not. Maia could feel the shaft of moonlight dousing her body. She was perfectly visible while the figure was not. 

The growling came back, louder and deeper this time. It sounded like a lycanthrope fully changed, but something was off about it. Maia had never heard one of her own kind sound like that. So ominous and deep throated. It wasn’t raspy, but had a quality that didn’t feel real. It was making her heart pound uncomfortably in her chest. She raised her hands up.

“Sorry.” She called awkwardly.

The growling didn’t stop; anyone else and Maia would have asked them what their problem was, but something told her not to. Maia stared hard; someone in wolf form would be noticeable, dark as it was. Neither figure was transformed. The growling sound seemed to come from the air, as if it simply materialized. Maia pricked her ears, vaguely surprised that they had grown larger and tufted. She had no idea where the sound was coming from, but it was getting closer to her now. Maia pulled back her lips to show her teeth. The figure slowly moved from its crouch, standing up. Its back was to a streetlight that was farther down the alley, which casted a long shadow and backlit the figure. Maia instantly saw that it was female and was standing over the now still figure on the ground. Their bodies’ shadows played with the competing streetlight and moonlight. Maia’s eyes were drawn to something the female was holding. Something sharp; the choking metallic smell wasn’t coming from the city’s metal.

“Oopsie.” 

The voice crooned. The female’s voice was teasing and something about it set Maia’s teeth on edge. The female lifted the gleaming sharpness in her hand. The moon’s glow exploded off its surface. A silver knife. Maia’s gasp quickly became a growl and the woman laughed. Something bright was just at the edges of Maia’s vision. At first she thought it was just an odd spattering of graffiti. It took all her willpower to tear her eyes away from the silver knife in the woman’s hand. Finally she got a look at who was lying on the ground, really get a look; more light tumbled onto the person. It was the boy who made Freaky Pete laugh. 

Joseph. He was dead. 

The air sealed itself out of Maia’s lungs, which seemed to press flat as they expelled anything in them. It was knocked out of her in a rush. Sounds washed out, fading into nonexistence and she ignored the odd buzzing that filled her ears. A strange voice inside her mind chanted the words.

‘He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.’

A small part of her brain was wondering why she hadn’t noticed sooner, or needed any light to do so. She could see perfectly now; improved werewolf vision getting all of the detail in crisp high definition. The body was sprawled awkwardly and was possessed with a heavy stillness, not even possessed. He possessed nothing now, no vital spark that told he had ever been alive. What she had earlier mistaken for passionate writhing was actually his death throes. 

Now his blood gleamed over the dirty, trash strewn pavement. Its bold color was hurting her eyes, and she almost threw up. Maia’s eyes roved over Joseph and she met his sightless gaze. His eyes were still open, boring into her and glassy with horror, and for a split second, Maia thought they would blink. They were a nice blue-grey color and Maia knew she’d never be able to look at the color again. She couldn’t tear her stare away; she was trapped in place, unable to flee. 

There was another strange noise, a clacking muffled keening. She heard the sound as if from underwater and it took her a fuzzy moment later to realize it was coming from her; it was muffled because it was coming from inside her. Maia’s teeth were chattering so hard her mouth hurt and the whimpering was raw, filling with terror. She was frightened by her own sounds of terror.

There was a giggling that wasn’t coming from her, but the woman. Reality snapped back to Maia like a rubber band. Everything was in focus now as instinct tried to wrestle back control. The moonlight hit everything, making the human debris glitter like a thousand shattered diamonds. The woman looked at the wasted body of Joseph, mouth twisted into a dry smile.

“Well, there goes that one, now I gotta start from scratch.”

Maia shivered at the words as the woman blinked slowly. When a shaft of light flitted onto the woman’s face, Maia could see that her eyes were black as tar and no light was reflected off of them, like two pits, except that they really were eyes. The woman stared back at Maia, and she could barely stand. The overwhelming smell of rotten eggs, blood, trash, and something rotten and burning was making her choke. She tried to keep herself standing and tried focus on the freezing air. 

The woman made a small gesture and Maia flinched violently. The woman laughed; Maia knew the woman enjoyed her fear, but she couldn’t help revealing her vulnerability. Maia’s terror and desperation clawed inside her chest, fighting to be released. She couldn’t move. 

“Go on.”

At first Maia thought the woman was speaking to her, but she nodded her head in Maia’s direction. The growling resumed, and a sudden crunching noise made Maia look down against her will. Huge indents had appeared on the ground, crushing beer bottles, the broken glass shimmered like diamond dust. 

Maia’s eyes were wide as they could go, wide enough to pop out of her head. The sounds moved again; she could see the imprints of their movements. Whatever they were, they were huge. Maia could feel their footsteps reverberate through her bones, her very soul. They moved slowly and Maia’s terror mounted, the anticipation making her skin crawl. The blood drained from her face, she could feel herself go pale; a wild thought that she was bleeding to death entered her mind. The growling filled her ears, drowning her. She groaned as she watched the pavement shudder and crack beneath invisible feet. The crack became a dent and suddenly, the air rushed forward. The terrible snarling and they launched themselves at Maia.

She screamed, the sound soaring to the moon. The screaming was being forced out of her in one unending shriek. She didn’t care what it sounded like; the monsters were almost to her. She could feel their burning breath on her face as her screams were being bounced back into her; she felt the echoes like punches. Something solid rammed into her and her screaming went into hysterical heights. The monsters pressed down on her, their breath so heavy with stench that they had a weight of their own. It smothered her, but Maia still screamed on. She thrashed as she felt the pricking of claws and teeth. 

All reason left her. Maia retreated, feeling a part of her lift up and suddenly she could see it all, as if it were happening to someone else. Her that was still on the ground was struggling wildly, as if caught in the jaws of a trap. She was obviously pinned; the force of it was embedding her in the ground. Bruises and cuts were forming. Maia’s face was a mask, or something that emotion had pushed to the extremes so that it no longer looked like a face. She felt a twinge of pain at the sight and felt a downward tugging. She shied away from it, and instead focused on the woman who was laughing.

The woman moved closer to Maia, silver knife gleaming as whatever pinned Maia down waited for what the woman’s command. Suddenly the door burst open, light spilling out, illuminating the woman who was now crouching over Maia. Maia, whose mouth was still a gaping gash, and her eyes rolling crazily in their sockets, and a face devoid of color.

The woman was furious, cursing as lycanthropes spilled out. Suddenly, Maia was yanked back down and the first thing she felt were hands pressing all around her. Maia felt her senses coming back to her as she fought off the hands, ignoring the crowd’s attempts at soothing, and she managed to crawl away from them 

Maia choked, trying to get the taste of rotten eggs out of her mouth before she began to violently throw up. Sounds began to rush over her again, as cold air blew against her overheated body. It nearly shattered her, but that fact was oddly comforting. The trash was wonderful to look at, so wonderfully ordinary at the filthy pavement was solid beneath her and was unable to move while she was on top of it. Maia was aware of her heart beating, its thudding an affirmation. That fact made the barrier between her and the world fade away at an acceptable pace. She began to listen to the words the pack was saying.

“Joseph is dead!”

“Completely drained of blood-”

“Vampires!”

“Did anyone see where the bloodsucker went?!”

“Call the Clave!”

“No, call Luke!”

Bat bent down to her line of vision, face taunt with worry and anger.

“Were you bitten?”

Maia shook her head; she probably blew her voice out with all that screaming. She felt strange; Freaky Pete had also bent down, searching her face as another pack member was gently touching her, checking for injury. Maia gingerly stood up and Bat steadied her with large hands. They began to ask her what happened, but Maia had difficulty speaking. She thought it was obvious. Freaky Pete’s face was kind as he tried to usher her inside. Maia shook her head and Freaky Pete insisted, till Maia finally croaked out.

“I’ll get him.”

Nothing could prevent Maia from moving as she suddenly raced out of the alleyway.  
_______________________________________________________________________  
The kitchen was quiet as Luke finally found an unused notebook and some pens. His house wasn’t usually so cluttered, but the past few days had been hectic. Clary idly scribbled on a spare sheet of paper as Simon watched.

“Ok, I’ll be back later.” Luke stated. “Simon, you’re welcome to stay the night if you want.”

Simon looked up and was about to reply, when a frantic pounding made them all jump. Someone was hammering on the door with enough force to break it down. Luke dropped the notebook onto the table and grabbed a kitchen knife.

“Stay here.”

Clary watched him race to the door. She had half a mind to follow him, but as if turned out, she didn’t have to. Luke came back a few minutes later, with a familiar girl with him.

“Maia?!” Simon cried.

Maia blanched at the sight of Clary and Simon. Clary thought she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“I thought you’d be alone.” She croaked; she sounded as though she had been shouting.

“Do you want to talk alone?” Luke asked, frowning in worry.

Maia paused, before finally shaking her head. “No…no, it’s ok.”

Luke led her into a chair; she shakily sat herself into it. Luke gestured for a glass of water, which Clary grabbed and set down in front of Maia. The other girl dimly acknowledged it with a nod. Luke pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Maia, and he slowly held up his hand and when Maia didn’t glare, he put it on her shoulder.

“What happened?”

“A boy…the-” Maia struggled to speak. “Joseph is dead.”

The air went still; the kitchen buzzed. Clary could see Luke thinking who that was before he realized who that was. Clary and Simon exchanged a look, dread reflecting in each other’s’ eyes. Clary and Simon stared at Maia. The lycanthrope girl looked uncomfortable with their scrutiny, but she seemed to be gathering herself. She straightened her shoulders and took a breath.

“His body was completely drained of blood.” Her breath rattled. “I-I saw it.”

Luke’s body stood straighter, as if electrified.

“How?”

Maia shuddered, but clarified. “Well, not really. I-I went out. I was at the Hunter’s Moon and when I went outside to get some fresh air I saw it. Someone was standing over Joseph, and well…they, they noticed me.”

Her last words were a whisper, and then she tried to go into detail, her words tumbling out in a rush, tripping over themselves as they hurried to get out of her. 

“When I got there, Joseph was already dead, and-and then they attacked me.”

“Attacked you?” Simon asked, horrified.

“They?” prompted Luke.

Maia shuddered. “A woman with black eyes and she had these things with her.” 

Clary felt her whole body plunge into ice water. She sensed more than saw Simon stiffen. She remembered Jace’s pale face and shivered at the memory. If it could rattle Jace, then it probably was a big deal, and she didn’t even want to imagine what the things were. Clary turned to Luke, childishly hoping he could fix this. He looked deep in thought.

“Do you think you were attacked, because you interrupted her?” he asked gently. 

Maia nodded. “I think so.” Her face pinched. “This has happened before hasn’t it?”

Luke nodded gravely. “I need to inform the Clave. Maia, you’re a witness, they’ll have questions for you. Do you think you can hang in there?” 

Maia nodded. “Yeah, umm…you might want to let everyone at the Hunter’s Moon know “I’m ok.” She gave a wry smile. “I pretty much tore outta there.”

“Sure. I have to go there anyway.” He squeezed Maia’s shoulder. “I’ll have to go to the Institute to bring the Shadowhunters here. Are you ok waiting with Simon and Clary?”

Maia nodded so vigorously her braids clacked together. “Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine.”

“Clary, could you call the Institute? That way, they’ll be prepared.”

Clary nodded and Luke gave the three of them one last smile before striding out and they heard the door shut behind him. The silence buzzed on, with the three of them sitting in the cramped and cluttered kitchen. Clary pulled out her phone, staring at it.

“Want some coffee? I think you’ll need it for the Shadowhunters.” Simon said to Maia.

“That’d be great.” Maia gave Simon a tight smile.

With a sigh, Clary flipped open the phone, her mouth suddenly went dry as her body fizzed with nerves. She scrolled trough her address book, barely reading the numbers; she had to go through the list twice to find what she wanted. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Clary could practically feel the splotchy flush on her face.

“Here” Simon handed Maia a mug of coffee.

Maia reached for it, ready to take it. Their fingertips brushed. It was like a static shock. Maia’s hand flinched and she jerked back so quickly that she knocked over her chair as she hurried to get out of the way, and sent the mug of hot coffee flying through the air. 

Clary gaped as she watched Maia turn pale as a corpse, her eyes wide and now golden. Her ears had become pointed, the fur blending with her hair and when she next spoke her teeth were jagged and lethal. Maia was staring at Simon with a mixture of terror and revulsion.

“Vampire.” She spat.

The look on Simon’s face was devastating. His shock and hurt made his face tiny with youth. Suddenly Clary was furious at Maia, but before she could respond, Simon’s face crumpled with grave resignation.

“Yes I am.” He said.

“I thought you were human!” she cried. “When we first met-”

“I still am!” he interrupted.

Simon moved closer, but Maia held up a hand, claws shooting out. They extended far, cutting Simon’s cheek. His eyes widened as a thin red line appeared. When his mouth widened, needle sharp incisors were visible. Maia blanched further, making her look sickly. Simon was looking furious and desperate. He spread his arms imploringly. Simon’s grimace revealed his teeth. The veins at his temple squirmed beneath the skin, snaking angrily as if trying to burst out of the skin.

Clary thought he did look fearsome, but so did Maia. The lycanthrope was trembling, and Clary couldn’t tell if she was trying to prevent herself from further changing or not.

“No you’re not!” Maia’s voice shook. “You drink blood!”

“Not human.” He assured.

“Only because the Shadowhunters will kill you if you do!” she cried. “But that doesn’t stop you guys does it?! Joseph was just a kid! What kind of monster does that?!”

“Not a vampire.” Clary insisted.

“What else could it be?!” Maia shrieked. “Those bodies were completely drained of blood!”

Simon pleaded. “But, even if that were true, what has that got to do with me?! You can trust me.”

“How can I?!” her face twisted in desperation. ”When our species are enemies? The demons that our species came from are mortal enemies, and that’s why we’ve never gotten along.”

“What?” Simon cried.

“Eventually, you’ll hate me. Luke too.” Her voice was bitter.

“No.” Simon was horrified, voice breathy with pain. 

Clary gritted her teeth in fury. How dare this girl make Simon feel this way?! Simon moved forward too far, and Maia snarled. Clary envisioned two angry beasts in a pit and before either could react, Clary moved, pushing herself in between them. Simon pulled back sharply. 

“That’s enough.”

Maia made a noise; her fear was tangible, contagious. She looked like a cornered dog, and Clary could sense Simon’s expression of pain behind her.

“The vampires, the things-they’ll kill us all!” Maia shouted.

Maia seemed close to hyperventilating, and she tried to speak, but Clary raised her hand and raced it against Maia’s cheek. The sound was like a thunderclap inside the tiny kitchen, it rumbled the room. Maia didn’t even raise a hand to touch her cheek. Color was coming back into her face, as if summoned by the slap. It gave her a thick flush and Clary just realized how hard she had struck Maia, and she started to speak.

“Get a hold of yourself. You’re both downworlders for crying out loud! I know for a fact that those murders weren’t the work of vampires!” the firmness in Clary’s tone made Maia gasp. “It’s about time to put this enemy nonsense behind us. If we don’t, we really will all die.”

The door burst open, left to bang loudly. They didn’t even have time to jump before people streamed into the kitchen. The Shadowhunters had arrived. The Inquisitor was at the head of the group, with Mayrse and Luke hurriedly flanking her. Isabelle and Jace brought up the rear. Clary’s eyes automatically zeroed in on Jace. He looked furious and Clary realized what he must be seeing and she flushed with embarrassment. His gold eyes burned with critical scrutiny. 

Clary blinked in shock at the look, shying away from it and instead picked out an obvious detail. They had gotten to Luke’s faster than she thought; Luke hadn’t been gone that long, and she didn’t have time to call them. So their speed had startled her.

“What, do guys have jet packs or something?” she quipped, feeling stupid.

The silence that greeted her just heightened her embarrassment. Clary could see Isabelle grimace and her mother Maryse wore a similar expression, although for probably for a different reason. The Inquisitor was eying the kitchen with distaste as if to say, ‘this is where you live?’ 

Clary flushed hard at the dissecting scrutiny. Clary was not only embarrassed for Luke, but also for herself; she lived her now. Never before had Clary been conscious of the mess, or really even cared about it. All the Inquisitor saw was a cramped and dingy apartment of a downworlder, and suddenly Clary hated her. If she even dared to say one word about Luke…

“What do you think you are doing Clarissa?” Jace asked coldly. “Do you have the slightest comprehension of just how dangerous it is to get between two downworlders?”

His voice was a sharpened edged that put Clary on the defensive, but before she could reply Simon spoke.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” he snapped.

Jace’s gaze became more hostile as it rested on Simon, who fiercely glared back.

“I’ll speak to my sister any way I please. This has nothing to do with you vampire, we came for the werewolf.”

Clary could see Maia bristle at the tone, and she couldn’t blame her. Clary could see Maia’s eyes had reverted back to their amber brown and were clear and calm. She was untransformed, and she seemed to be trying not to look embarrassed. She wasn’t looking at either Clary or Simon, but directly at Jace. 

“Well?” Jace asked Maia.

Maia regarded him with a straight back, and she didn’t look bothered by Jace’s tone, but Clary was. It bothered her because it matched his expression. The way he was looking at Maia; contemptuous and amused, like whatever was clinging to his shoes was making him laugh. There was something beneath it, a varnish that was peeling away to reveal the original color. It was anger, but not fury, but desperation. Clary wasn’t sure, but it gave her a foreboding feeling, which she pushed down to make room for anger.

“Jace.” She stated. “Stop insulting my friends.”

Jace looked surprised at her tone, but his gaze left her anchored in place; he seemed to nod, with an intense grimace.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, little sister.”

Clary shuddered at Jace’s voice. His tone was calm, could be patronizing, but no body language suggested he was calm, in fact, he looked ready for a fight. The contrast was alarming her, and made heat flare throughout her body. She was being observed mercilessly. How did he manage to look so vulnerable and be challenging at the same time? Jace really was a study in contrasts-

Simon made a snorting noise. “Oh for, quit fl-”

He suddenly cut himself off. Clary turned. Simon snapped his mouth shut and she could see he was gritting his teeth. His dark eyes wide, and suddenly she knew what he had stopped himself from saying.

“Quit Flirting.”

Clary was just as suddenly aware that the room was full. Full of people that they, knew, their families. She felt a sudden wellspring of shame; the beast inside her slunk back into its hidden cage. Simon had stopped himself from saying what he wanted so badly to say, to get out into the open. Instead he had to let it fester inside. Clary didn’t know whether to feel gratitude that he kept his silence for her, or to scream because of the anger in his voice. 

Clary saw Jace’s eyes burst; all traces of vulnerability were gone and replaced with a hard cool mask. He was staring at her and she repressed a shudder. She had to get a hold of herself.

“Enough chest thumping.” She hated how unsteady her voice sounded.  
“Yes please.” Isabelle muttered.  
Before Clary could shoot her a grateful look, Maryse exchanged a look with the Inquisitor before speaking.   
“Lucien has informed us of what has happened.” Maryse began.  
“Tell us what you know, downworlder.” The Inquisitor demanded.  
Clary turned in worry to regard Maia. His many people crowding her must have been stressful and Clary wondered if she could squeeze Maia’s shoulder just moments after slapping her. Luke hastily pulled up chairs for everyone. Every teen except Jace sat down. He stood far from Clary and he was standing across the Inquisitor, who also refused to sit down with one eyebrow raised in disgust. Maryse herself looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but Luke’s.  
Clary wondered if Maia would need prompting, but she didn’t and when she spoke her voice was firm. Maia seemed to have her tough girl persona back on as she recalled the previous hours. Maryse was the one who was recording the conversation, and when she looked to the Inquisitor, the older woman gave her a brisk nod. Jace spoke next, pushing a sheet of paper and handing a pencil to Maia.

“How old are you?” he asked.

Maia looked incredulous. She gave him a half angry, half swaggering reply.

“Pervert. I don’t date dicks.”

Maryse’s lips thinned and Simon suppressed a snigger. Jace gave Maia a withering look.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Valentine is targeting minors.”

“Fine. Fifteen. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. I’ll be sure to make a pass at you later.”

Maia wrote the information and handed the sheet back. The Shadowhunters stood up, and Maia didn’t bother to look at them. Simon back up to make room for them as they made their way out of the kitchen. Luke smiled encouragingly at Maia.

“There is a guest bedroom if you want to crash here.”

Maia blinked, “Hmm? Oh, um ok, I guess. Thanks.” She mumbled.

Luke nodded and then began to speak to Maryse in low tones. Clary stood up. 

“I’ll get it set up for you.” She told Maia.

Maia gave a mumble of acknowledgement. As Clary brushed past the group, she caught a snatch of Luke’s conversation with Maryse.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this.”

“It’s alright.” She said tightly. “Better than doing nothing I suppose.”

“Hmmph.” The Inquisitor interrupted.

Clary hurried up the stairs, steps muted by carpet. She went to the linen closet, hands roaming the shelves. Clary could see the old comforter tucked away in a corner. She had to tug hard to get it out and she let it fill her hands; the softness made her want to hug it to herself. Grabbing the rest of the bedding, she turned around and was face to face with Jace. She hadn’t heard him at all, and they were inches apart.

Clary gasped and dropped her armful. Jace bent down and picked them up. Clary reached out her arms for them, but he didn’t return them to her.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He stated.

Clary gaped at that, indignant and confusion battling inside her. “Only because I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Profound relief flooded Clary, but it froze as Jace continued, laughing without humor.

“I should. I want to.” His voice became speculative. “Who knows? Maybe someday I will.”

Clary gave a bitter laugh; she was brutally reminded of the way Simon looked at her in the Faerie Court. She hated their stares, the way she could never please anyone anymore.

“You think this is easy for me?” she snapped.

Jace gave her a hard, black and white stare. “Isn’t it? After all, you love Simon.”

Clary was insulted. “Of course I do! I love him just as much-” she felt like she swallowed something sharp. “I’m trying my best!”

Now it was Jace’s turn to be insulted. “So am I.”

Clary didn’t want to think about how hard it was for Jace, only that she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week.  
“It’s different! You don’t have to choose, you have a family.”

The dark circles underneath Jace’s eyes stood like bruise against his skin. His face gave a sudden wrench of agony; he couldn’t keep his mask up. Clary wondered if it had anything to do with her, and if it did what could she do about it?

Jace’s voice was taunt. “No I don’t.” 

“The Lightwoods-” Clary started to say.

“Don’t give a damn about me.” He swallowed quickly. “Apparently, neither do you!” he sounding like he was choking on something.

“I do.” Clary was filled with wild desperation, it was overtaking her. “Too much! You’re family, I should love you like family-like I do Simon, who by the way, deserves more! He deserves to be happy; I should love him like I do you!” she struggled to get her breathing under control.

Whatever Jace had braced himself to hear, this wasn’t it. There was a new anguish in his face as he looked into Clary’s eyes.

“Clary-”

The stairs creaked. Clary turned to see Simon had come up. He looked confused at first; he had probably come up to see what was taking her so long. Simon took one look at the scene and his expression hardened. Clary wondered what his vampire eyes could see. She could only imagine. As she dangled off the edge of a cliff waiting for his response, Jace shoved the blankets into her hands with viscous force.

“Oh.” Simon softly said.

Jace suddenly moved, pushing past Simon and went down the stairs. Simon met Clary’s eyes and she wasn’t sure what he was seeing, or what he was thinking. Suddenly she wanted him; the old Simon who gave her easy smiles and let her borrow his CD’s till eternity.

Simon wordlessly left, following the path Jace took. The rejection was too much; alone in the hall, Clary let the blankets drop to the floor. The only thing she wanted to do was pull her hair and scream and wail, with a good dose of rocking back and forth, or just collapsing into a heap. She felt the sadness as a ship feels an anchor, but if she just sunk to the ground, she’d never get up. So she did the next best thing. She cursed.

“Goddamn it!”

She whispered in a vicious frustration that didn’t feel strong enough for her and she raced downstairs. She ignored the kitchen full of people as she yanked open the back door; she heard it slam behind as she followed Simon, who was striding across Luke’s backyard.

“Wait-please wait!’ she cried.

Simon didn’t turn around. “You’re busy, and it’s late.”

“Bull!” Clary shouted.

Simon turned around, sad and frustrated, “Clary-” 

“I know! It’s wrong and messed up, but I’m trying.”

Simon held up his hands. “I know. I know you are. It’s just how you feel; it’s not your fault.”

Clary knew he meant it. “Just give me time.” She begged.

“Finally! Honesty!” 

Clary held back tears. “I know. I’m sorry. This shouldn’t be happening to you. I should love you like I do him.” The pain was making her gasp.

“I don’t want you to think you have to love me. That just makes it worse.”

Clary held back on her keening whimper. He was right; being the next best thing was awful, even worse was that she was forcing both of them to go through this, to love him in such a way, like there was something wrong with him. Shame and guilt for making Simon feel that way, however inadvertently made her want to tug her hair.

“I want to love you like that. I can.” She meant it. She really meant it.

Simon’s tone was wistful. “Somehow, I don’t think you ever will.” 

Clary was suddenly angry. “Why not?”

“Have you ever felt like you couldn’t trust the person you love?” he asked.

Thrown off guard, Clary thought before answering. “…I think so.”

“Then you know how horrible that is to do to someone.” He said.

Clary nodded vigorously, tears at last coming to her eyes. If only she could choose her blood. It made shame so deep and complete that all she wanted to do was hide, but that didn’t stop the beast inside from making its cries, pleading its case. She didn’t know how to make these feelings go away, to turn into something more acceptable, normal. She cut off a wail.

“Yes. You’re so good. You don’t hurt the people around you.”

Simon looked too unsurprised to be alarmed, but the empathy was clear on his face.

“This isn’t your fault; this is just something that happened.”

Clary sobbed. “I wish…”

Simon looked close to tears himself. “I know. Me too.” 

He strode forward and hugged her. With Simon’s arms wrapped around her, Clary felt like she could almost pretend. She pressed her cheek against his chest. Clary would never hear his heart beat again. She whimpered; their lives had been altered beyond recognition, but there was nothing more to say. They both knew it wouldn’t get any better, no matter how much they tried not to hurt each other. Clary suddenly knew she could never pretend again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Simon’s breath blew her hair like a kiss. Clary trembled with a longing she couldn’t identify and the Simon pulled back, and strode out of sight. His words left a ghostly imprint on her skin, like he really was dead and never was. With a heavy heart she went back inside. She saw Jace fiddling with a piece of something sharp and glinting in his hand, but when he caught her looking at it, he tucked into his pocket. The Shadowhunters finally looked like they were getting ready to leave. Clary heard the Inquisitor say.

“Are we through wasting time with this?”

Clary heard a murmured reply, but then Maryse distinctly spoke.

“Yes I believe we are.” She sounded as if she were gritting her teeth.

“Fine.” The Inquisitor roughly grabbed Jace by the arm. “Come along boy.”

Clary’s line of vision was suddenly blocked by Maia. The girl looked anxious.

“Um…where’s Simon?”

Clary blinked. “Why?” she was surprised at the chill in her tone.

“Well…because I wanted to say I’m sorry. I really freaked out. “Maia laughed nervously. 

“Yeah you did.” Clary continued. “What was all that fighting species stuff?” 

Maia flushed and Clary was meanly pleased to see Maia’s self-mortification. 

“Well, I guess I could overlook it. Please. I just want to tell him I’m sorry.”

“He left.” Maia’s face crumpled. “He went home.”

Maia was thoughtful for a moment, before her expression cleared with an idea.

“Well, I can track his scent so…” she hesitated. “ Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

Clary looked at Maia for a moment and softened. 

“He is the forgiving type.” 

Maia’s relief was obvious. “Can you tell Luke I said thank you?” 

Clary gave a brief nod, and Maia looked at her for a few moments.

“Thanks. For everything.”

Clary nodded again as Maia opened the door and raced into the night. Clary felt a stab of bitter jealousy. She wanted to be the one to chase after Simon, but after tonight, she wasn’t sure she had any right to. When did her life stop being real? It was some strange fantasy that she had been dropped into, and felt like taking over a stranger’s life. A stranger who could not stop herself from causing others pain, and was only able to be buffeted about by the current. Clary didn’t think she ever figure out how to stop being powerless.

“Where’d Maia go?” asked Luke.

“Hmm?” Clary replied absently. “Oh, she changed her mind. She said thanks though.”

“I see.” Luke’s face was a knot of worry.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Luke went over to her; not that it was just the two of them, it was eerily quiet. Luke put his arm around her and Clary tried to draw comfort from it. 

“It’ll get better tomorrow.” He said.

Clary nodded, hoping it was true, because right now she never felt more alone.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Maia followed Simon’s scent as it led her to central park. She was gaining on him; one thing lycanthropes and vampires had in common was incredible speed. She wondered just where it was that Simon had lived, and she hoped that she’d catch up to him in time. Then, she could see him, striding on a concrete path up ahead. Maia shouted, waving her arms He turned, looking startled by her sudden appearance. She couldn’t blame him. Maia skidded to a halt at his feet.

“I’m sorry.” She said without preamble. 

“Sorry?” 

She couldn’t tell if he didn’t understand or was angry with her. She fidgeted. 

“You know. For my freaking out earlier.”

“Oh.”

“So…yeah.” Maia had no idea what was going to happen next

“What about all that ancient species stuff?” he asked. “I thought we could never be friends.”

Maia flinched. “Well…I don’t know if that’s true, but Clary said you were a pretty great guy. So if that doesn’t happen between us, I’d be really happy.” 

Simon blinked in surprise.

“I mean,” Maia continued. “You still like Luke right?”

“Of course.”

Maia’s hesitation vanished and her grin was almost childlike with delight. Simon’s expression cleared like mist on the begging of a summer day. The two smiled at each other.

“Awwww.” A voice crooned.

Both jumped and a sharp breeze blew past, scattering leaves around the person who interrupted them. It was a slight, dark haired woman. Something about her seemed off. 

“Well look-y here. A were and a vamp getting along, almost sittin’ in a tree.”

Her sing song tone set Simon’s teeth on edge. She wasn’t a mundane, and definitely not a Shadowhunter. The wind blew again and this time a faint growling was carried on the wind. Maia’s face went through a series of emotion before settling on horrified recognition. She seemed unable to move; Simon put himself in front of her. The woman seemed more amused by the reaction than anything else. She put on slim finger to her lips in mock thought. 

“You know, it’s a good thing those Shadowhunters don’t give a crap about you downworlders, makes my job easier.”

“You-” Maia pointed a shaking finger at the woman. Her had difficulty speaking. “You-you killed Joseph!”

Simon gaped in shock, feeling his fangs descend. The woman was interrupted from her reverie. She gave a breathy laugh.

“He was a screamer.”

The growling grew louder, leaves crunching nothing. Maia shrieked, backing into a tree. Simon pressed himself in front of her, lips pulled back. He flinched when the sounds got closer.

“Well.” She drew out the word. “I really wish boss man didn’t want to do it this way, but if want something done right…”

The woman smiled.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“So this’ll really work?”

“Stealth is prized among the Children of the Night.”

Jace snorted.

“Does this mean I am out of your debt?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, I had thought that falling out of favor with the Clave would teach you a little humility.”

“Pretty sharp ears.”

“Of course.”

“Later, Raphael.”

Jace straddled the bike, and the motorcycle roared to life beneath him. Jace hit the throttle and he soared above the parking lot. Jace sped forward toward the east river. At the speed he was going, it didn’t take him that long to get there. Jace’s eyes scanned the harbor, intent on finding his target. 

The ships reminded him of Idris in a way. Of when he went out on the water, and saw the graceful boats of the Nephilim dotting the lakes and rivers of his home. Try as he might, Jace could never quite take to New York City, not when he knew of Idris. The sharp wind of the river banished these thoughts. The prow of a ship was jutting out of the water. Jace stared. It was a black ship, too large to be a yacht or any other pleasure boat, but to slender to be a warship. Its odd size made it stand out, but Jace instantly knew it was glamoured to be hidden from mundane sight. 

It was exactly what he was looking for. Jace flew higher, looking for a clear spot to land. He looked down and with a shock saw him. Valentine and he was staring up at him, straight through him. Jace had to clamp down on his emotions. He descended easily, the bike going silent as soon as Jace touched down. Jace looked at Valentine.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“I am. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever return to me.”

Jace grimaced. “You sound so sure of yourself. I have questions.”

“As do I. For example, how did you find me?” Valentine sounded politely curious. 

“Magnus Bane has been trying to track you. I remembered that you always loved to sail. I could have told them that and it would have all been over.”

“So you’ve come to protect me?”

Jace swallowed. “I told you I have questions.”

Valentine inclined his head. “Naturally. Ask away.”

“When you stole the sword that night, you wanted me to come back with you, but that night at Renwick’s, you left.” Jace struggled to keep his voice steady. “Why?”

Valentine stared hard and Jace felt nostalgia at the scrutiny. His father looked genuinely regretful. 

“That is something I should apologize for. When we were reunited that day, I had gotten ahead of myself, thinking my child would still be the same person he was all those years ago.” Valentine shook his head ruefully. “But, in my absence you have grown into an admirable man. My biggest regret is that I was not there to see it.”

‘You could have.’ Jace thought, but he didn’t dare say it out loud.

Valentine was continuing.

“And now you are persecuted by the Clave for the simple crime of being my son. The cowards do not have the capacity to challenge me, so they go for you instead.”

“What did you expect?” Jace asked, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. 

Valentine nodded his head, as if the two were now of the same mind.

“Now you finally understand their true colors. Why I go against them. They are corrupt, mingling with degenerates, and they restrict those who have the greatest potential. The Clave needs to be changed, so I will change it.” His voice was finite. 

Jace remembered similar tirades; they were as familiar as his study books. He felt an odd mixture of foreboding and bruised affection. He shook his head to clear it. 

“Surely you have noticed it? Demons run rampant while the Clave preoccupies itself with making alliances with the half breed downworlders, who will cause further decay to the Clave while its members do nothing to stop it. They are so busy trying to ensure a half-baked peace with dangerous animals, so that soon will be overrun with demons. There are not enough Shadowhunters in the world to carry on our duty. That must be changed at all costs.”

“So you will be the one to change it.” Jace made it a statement. “How, by force?” 

Valentine was unperturbed. “If I have to, but I certainly do not want to Jonathan.”

Jace thought of the Lightwoods’. They were a part of the Clave as any other. He suddenly felt sick. 

“The Lightwoods’.” He breathed.

“Are the ones who are a cause of most of your misfortune. Maryse threw you out-oh yes, I heard about that. The Inquisitor- Imogen, put you into the Silent City’s prison. I imagine Maryse did nothing to stop it. Tell me, the way they treat you, is that the way a family acts?” 

Jace had difficulty clearing his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how families were supposed to act, period. He cleared his throat, willing the subject to change.

“But why?” he then clarified. “I mean, why you? Why do you have to be the one to change things?”

“Because only I can see this problem for what it is. Because someone has to.”

“Even if you have to break the law?” Jace wasn’t that surprised to hear that this was Valentine’s opinion. “But isn’t breaking the law to change the law cheating?” he felt childish for putting it that way.

Valentine however, seemed to know what he was talking about. He began to walk forward and Jace followed him.

“What is right? Is it wrong to act against authority?” Valentine mused. “We could debate this matter for days, but the truth is deceptively simple.”

“But if you think you know better than the law, then what makes you no better than the law??” 

Valentine gave a booming laugh that made Jace homesick.

“Excellent wordplay and just the right response to temper my pride. This is exactly why I need you Jonathan.”

Jace felt the confusion of just what it was that he was needed for. It battled with the desire to be wanted. 

“You know what they think right?” he hazarded. 

Valentine shrugged, the gesture looking effortless. 

“To them I am a monster, but that doesn’t matter. It takes a true patriot to have the courage to rebel. This is for their own good, and if I have to use my supposed monstrosity to do so then I will.” He stated simply. 

Jace shuddered; his father was as charismatic as ever. Valentine seemed to realize the struggle raging inside Jace. 

“I am in the right Jonathan. For whatever that is worth, I am in the right.”

Valentine led Jace to the end of the ship.

“I will explain.”

They stopped walking. Jace felt against his will, that he was waiting with bated breath. Valentine reached and gripped the hilt of a blade. It was the Soul-Sword. Jace could recognize it with ease and it was released from the scabbard with an impressive ringing. Jace stared at the blade in shock. It was dark, but somehow bright, as if absorbing the light of its surroundings. It emanated a powerful aura. 

“You recall Milton?” at Jace’s nod, he continued. “Well, in some respects he was correct. His portrayal of Lucifer was surprisingly accurate.”

At these words, Jace felt dread. He was unable to tune the words out.

“Lucifer was one of the most beloved of all the angels, and he loved God so much so that when he was told that he must bow to man, he could not bring himself to do so. That was the nature of his fall.”

“But he still fell. He was still cast into Hell.” Jace was aghast at the surreal turn of their conversation.

“He is no longer. Lucifer walks the earth. An angel visited me, willing to ally with myself.”

Jace shuddered; he had an idea which one it was. He wanted to press his hands over his ears.

“He has told me many things. About Raziel and the nature of demons-both of them. Before Lucifer fell it was this sword that defended Heaven against the demons and spilled their heinous blood. Like Raziel, he wanted to continue to fight them instead of bowing to man, but he was punished for loving God too much to listen to his command.”

Jace was shocked that Valentine would make similarities to Lucifer and Raziel. He wasn’t sure how much truth there was to what Valentine was saying, and that uncertainty was agony to Jace. 

“The fact that this sword is in Nephilim possession means that we are the chosen ones. We are the only ones that can protect this world, as is our birthright.” 

Valentine held out the sword for Jace to take. Jace looked into Valentine’s dark eyes and when his father nodded, Jace took the blade the way his father showed him how. As soon as Jace’s hands wrapped around the handle he gasped. Cold shot up his arm, settling into his bones as his fingers became pale. He doubled over; it wasn’t heavy per se, but it was dragging him downward, with a pull almost as though two magnets were meeting. He also had a strange but distinct feeling that it did not want to be held by him. Jace shivered, wanting to let go, but then his attention had being taken away to what had suddenly appeared before them. What he was seeing filled him with horror. There were demons, as if called forth. 

Demons in all manner of monstrosity, too horrible to describe, full of poison and in shapes he had never seen before. Jace shuddered at their numbers. They were coming from all directions, from the water bubbling up; the only thing keeping them apart from the two worlds was a barrier. Jace could see it out of the corner of his eye, the thin sheet that separated the two, created distinct edges of the world. Jace looked up; the sky formed fissures, cracks that had all kinds of appendages poking through.

He could see past them, to the grid of which the universe was formed, what separated the planes by curve and light. It burned his eyes, and overcame him. He gasped as Valentine’s hands gently pried the sword out of his grip. At once the light and demons vanished. Jace swayed as Valentine strapped the sword back into its confines. Jace resisted the urge to vomit.

“So that’s it-that’s what you’re doing.”

“My army, yes.”

“No.” Jace breathed.

“Yes.” Valentine was firm.

“But the Clave, they will fight.” Alec and Isabelle’s faces flashed in his mind.

Valentine shook his head. “They are too cowardly for that, and they will surrender once they see the power I have assembled.”

“But demons, I thought you hated them.”

“I do. They are simply a means to an end. When the task is complete, I will give the order to annihilate themselves, since the sword’s wielder has that kind of power.”

Jace was shaking uncontrollably. One of the few remaining pieces clicked into place and he almost wished he never found out. He turned to Valentine; he knew he must look awful.

“I could tell. I could get right off this ship and tell the Inquisitor everything you just told me. I’ve got enough information to stop you.”

Valentine’s look of utter confidence quieted Jace.

“I trust you.”

His simple answer floored Jace like nothing else could. Something frantic had broken in his chest. He wanted to collapse with gratitude, and hated himself for it. He quickly and mentally shook himself; he needed a better grip on the emotions that were helplessly tumbling out of him. He could understand how he could feel despair and relief at the same time. He took a shuddering breath and took a sinful plunge, feeling painful jolts of electricity course through him. 

“If- if I do this, you need to guarantee their safety.”

Valentine didn’t need to ask for who Jace was talking about.

“Of course.”

“Every last one.” He insisted.

“I would only do this for you.”

Jace suppressed a bitter laugh.

‘Small favors.’ He thought. ‘Lucky me that Dad will spare their lives.’

Valentine was giving his son a measured but deep look.

“I know you care for them, even though they don’t care for you. It means you have compassion. It makes me proud to call you my son. Never forget that you are not a Lightwood, but a Morgenstern. It is our destiny to hurt those we love. That just means we can do the impossible. So why not put all your talents to use?”

Jace bowed his head, feeling the weight of the truth. When Jace finally looked up, he could see a vast multitude if stars. It was a beautiful night and he could feel the city’s air in his lungs, so different from Idris, pumping in his heart. It was a good night to be alive, feeling the despair. 

“This reminds me of when you showed me how to sail.”

Jace wasn’t sure why he said it.

“Ah yes, we’ll have to do that again.”

From anyone else it would have been normal. Jace suddenly wanted to cry.

“Yes.” He felt the need to say it again. “Yes, I’ll do it.” 

He looked back at Valentine. His father gave him a look of utter delight. Jace didn’t have to search long to know that it was genuine. He knew all of his father’s expressions and this was one of his best. It made him look younger, and somehow fiercer. For some reason, seeing Valentine this happy made Jace’s heart break, like that portal mirror, and the shard was still in his pocket. 

“Then come. There is something That I’ll need your assistance with.” 

Valentine strode to a door by the side of the deck, with its entrance leading down below. Valentine pulled out his stele and opened the door with a rune. As they walked down the stairs, the air became colder, until their breath was visible. Jace looked around; the industrial interior was very different from his father’s usual preferences. Catwalks and ladders competed for space in the stark underbelly of the ship. It was larger inside than what Jace would have thought; they passed rooms filled with machinery. Jace couldn’t tell if they were still in use, but he didn’t really care. 

He felt as though had just misplaced, or rather given, away something important, something that he could never, no matter how hard he tried would never get back again.

‘Was it worth it?’

Jace pushed out his thoughts as Valentine finally stopped in front of a large metal entryway. 

“Ah, here we are.” Valentine said.

He showed Jace inside the room, and began speaking again. Jace wasn’t listening. Everything slowed to a crawl, sounds pushed out as he stared in horror and hoped his eyes were deceiving him.  
_______________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	5. Just before dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Again, I don't own either series.  
> Warnings: Got some violence, in this one above violence level.   
> Word count: 27,135  
> AN: Crank up the ac/dc! Enjoy!

Jace stared. His father’s voice was surrounding him, soaking into his bones.

“After the previous interruption, I had them brought here.”

Jace’s head was spinning. “Interruption?”

“Yes. I wanted to prevent another one. I thought it would be more prudent to bring them here to finish the Conversion Ritual without any problems.”

Jace swallowed hard, sweat breaking out. His heart was clamoring to be released as every part of him screamed not to go any further. What he was staring at was staring right back at him. Simon and Maia. The two were shackled to the floor, thick metal wrapping around their wrists and ankles. Simon was glaring at Jace with a fierce loathing. Maia was glancing between all of the men, looking frightened and confused. She seemed unable to believe that this was happening; Jace had a hard time believing it himself. 

Jace felt a fear that only rivaled his memories of being in the Silent City. With Simon glaring at him, he was instantly reminded of Clary and how her heart would break at the sight of Simon chained like an animal. Jace felt a hot, painful wave after wave of self-loathing. He welcomed Simon’s hate, it was much deserved. Jace knew he’d never forget the expression Simon was giving him, or Maia’s wavering look of wariness. It was only an hour or so that he had last seen her, and she still managed to get caught. Jace couldn’t appreciate the irony. Maia was trying to desperately hide her fear, but it didn’t escape Jace; he could smell it on her, and she was his victim. Jace never felt so sick in his entire life. He wanted to die. 

Jace felt the crashing reality, as though something heavy in his soul had snapped in half and thundered downwards, the sound painfully filled his ears as all he was told rained down, destroyed and all his own doing. He had betrayed his own rules, the rules of the Clave. He deserved their punishment. Jace swallowed, his throat didn’t seem to be working properly because of the large chunks of regret that were lodged firmly inside.

Jace knew exactly what was going to happen to Maia, to Simon. Their deaths would devastate Clary. She tried so hard to keep Simon safe, and he was always in her thoughts. Instantly, Jace could picture her expression of grief when she realized that Simon was dead, would be dead. By Jace’s own hand no less and he might as well have stabbed him right then and there. Or better yet, not have let him rise from that shallow grave in a Jewish cemetery. 

He remembered that night so vividly, how Clary looked at him as though he were a monster and how she covered Simon’s body with her own. She struggled so desperately, and her grief had frightened Jace in that special way that only Clary was capable of doing. Jace knew she couldn’t do that again, no matter how willing she’d be to do it. It would crush her, and she’d never be able to go on, Jace knew that much. Simon was an irreplaceable part of her life, and he, Jace was about to take it away. She told him that she did love him, but Jace was certain that if he did this, she would most definitely hate him.

His mind felt clear, sharp, and painful. As though a haze had been removed from it; it took all of Jace’s willpower not to collapse to the floor. He knew he had to say goodbye to all his pleasant memories, and even though he knew it was a useless hope, he still felt it flutter angrily in his chest. He turned to Valentine, feeling so small. 

“What is it Jonathan?”

“How did you find these two?”

“I had ordered for a werewolf and a vampire to be brought to me. A demon calling itself Meg had stumbled upon them, and brought them to me.”

“She has been the one who’s been responsible for the murders?”

“Yes.” 

Jace shuddered. “Well, maybe there is another way. Someone else.”

Jace felt sick and disgusted with himself for suggesting it. To just let someone else die, even if it wasn’t these particular downworlders, was just plain unthinkable. He tried to plead with Valentine, who was looking into his face carefully, and Jace felt a thrill of fear go through him. He wondered if Valentine could guess his thoughts, but Valentine’s face cleared and Jace felt another childish hope that his father would understand that these two had to be spared.

“Ah, that’s right. As I recall, the vampire is some sort of pet to Clarissa.”  
Jace wanted to point out that to her, Simon was family, but that seemed like giving his father a weapon he shouldn’t be allowed to have. Valentine frowned disapprovingly. 

“She shouldn’t keep such company with such monstrosities. It’s undignified for a Shadowhunter girl. Who knows what that could lead to?”

Jace shivered, not at the words, but the way Valentine had said them and just what that meant. Simon would not be spared just because Jace knew him.

“You’re the monstrosity, you piece of shit, how about you-” Maia shouted, straining against the metal that held her in place. 

She was half transformed, lunging at Valentine with her thick canines snapping at him. Valentine looked down at her with a kind of clinical distaste. He took his eyes off her, uncaring that an angry werewolf was trying to claw out his throat. Taking a small pouch off of one of his enormous belts, he untied the draw string and poured out some of the contents onto his open palm. It was powder, shimmering like snow, but it was silver rather than white. Jace knew what it was at once, but before he could move, Valentine acted.

Valentine bent down at Maia’s level, undisturbed by the close proximity of her claws. He blew the power right into her face. It quickly settled onto her skin and she screamed. Valentine stood up brushing his hands together as if he had only been holding dirt and he didn’t even bother to look at Maia as she howled and writhed below him. Her cries of pain assaulted Jace’s ears, and he restrained the urge to bent down and unchain her. Simon quickly shouted, terrified for Maia, whose eyes were shut tight as she tried to get the silver power off of her. She was coughing violently, accidently inhaling some of the deadly stuff. 

Simon was looking at the two of them with such a vicious glare and Jace nearly backed away, but Valentine did not. Simon stood up as far as his manacles would allow and put himself in front of Maia, one hand on her shoulder.

“Bastard.” He spat. “She’s just a girl for-”

He choked and Valentine laughed. He knew what Simon had meant to say, and to hear it from a vampire must have insulted him.

“You were about to say God, weren’t you?” 

Simon just bared his teeth, fury and humiliation plain on his face; for his religion to be used against him was probably the greatest insult Valentine could have ever given him, and something that wouldn’t be forgiven. In one fluid motion, Valentine unsheathed Maellartach and with one slim slice, brought the tip of the blade to Simon’s cheek. 

“Careful revenant, this is a holy weapon that burns unclean creatures such as yourself. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“That I’m glad Clary never got to know you.” 

Valentine frowned, as if hearing the name from a vampire was offensive. He pressed the blade harder to Simon’s throat. Simon hissed in pain, and a if sensing it, Maia opened her eyes in time to see Simon hiss in pain as the blood began to well where the sword was pressing into Simon’s neck.

“Leave him alone!” she shouted. 

“Father.”

Jace moved without thought and reflexively grabbed Valentine’s sword arm. Valentine was surprised at the strength of Jace’s grip, and when Jace looked into his father’s eyes had had seen fury for just a brief moment, before Valentine looked at him with a sympathetic scrutiny. Except Jace knew now that it was a lie; his father was putting on a mask as he tried to study him under a microscope. It filled Jace with anger and a sick kind of fear to be scrutinized so clinically, and like he was a fascinating experiment.

“I see. You care for him, don’t tell me this creature has found a place in your heart? No…at the very least, you only care for him because Clarissa cares for him and his death would cause her pain. Again your compassion is admirable.”

Jace did not like the way his father spoke, or the way he was looking at him either. It was as though he had just finished puzzling something out, and was surprised at the result. It couldn’t be good if said result made him smile in that peculiar way. Jace couldn’t figure it out and that filled him with a twisted foreboding. 

“However this is not the time for compassion. I cannot spare him or the werewolf. There simply isn’t time or room for mistakes.” Valentine looked struck by a sudden idea. “Since it will take some time between the two, I can give you a few minutes with one of them, while I take the other.”

Jace gaped at him, unable to prevent the noise of shock that vibrated in his body. Valentine was serious, and would not be swayed, not even if he went down on his hands and knees and begged. He was filled with pain; his own father would not stop for anyone or anything, not even his own son. Sure, he wanted Jace with him, but he’d be willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. One look in his father’s eyes and he knew this was his father’s mission from God. 

“Choose.”

As if he sensed what Jace had thought, Valentine put a hand his shoulder.   
“Temper your compassion Jonathan. This is necessary for our kind to prevail. As the Angel has chosen us, their war has become ours.” 

Jace felt all hope plummet, chills crashing down his body, as he felt the stain on his soul spread. His eyelids fluttered as if anchored by heavy weights. Jace thought his ribcage was cracking from the strain of disappointment. He felt hurt like this before, like his entire body switched between hot and cold as bitter abandonment tangled itself against his own self-loathing. He wasn’t surprised that Valentine was doing this. Deep down, he wasn’t surprised at all and that alone intensified the hurt. His own father would never back down and maybe even enjoyed the predicament. Jace knew right then and there that his father would never be what he wanted or needed him to be.

He had made a grave mistake. It would stay with him for the rest of his life. Valentine was forcing him to choose. Jace felt his father’s eyes boring into him as he stared at Simon and Maia. Valentine thought he was doing Jace a kindness by letting him choose which one to die first. Jace stared hard; sweat was coating his skin that felt tight and uncomfortable. He swallowed reflexively, struggling to push down the bile that was flooding his throat. Jace had never done this before. Downworlder gone rogue were just as bad as demons, and he’d kill in the heat of battle, but this…

Jace’s vision began to spot, blurring the two that were kneeling on the sterile metal of the ship’s floor. His head was pounding, stabbing his eyes and nose, making them water. He had to stifle a gasp, his mind whirring; he couldn’t show Valentine what he was thinking. The plan began to take distinct shape, swallowing the thickness that he couldn’t define. The guilt corroded him, and he felt his face tighten; he didn’t know how he looked, but when he bored his gaze into the two of them. Maia shrank away and Jace couldn’t blame her. When Simon looked at Jace, he felt fear. Jace buried it deep at his own expense, hoping to God that his mask was good enough for Valentine.

Jace gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight. He trembled inside, wanting nothing more than to cover his eyes and ears. Jace struggled to wrench away what little comfort he could still fool himself into giving himself; he didn’t deserve it. He was going to hell. Deservedly so; Jace spared Valentine only a glance, jerking his head in the direction of Maia.

“Her. Take the werewolf.”

Jace willed himself to stare at the scene.

‘Avert not thine eyes.’ 

A voice stated in his mind. It sounded like Clary. He had to watch every moment of this, it would be cowardly to look away, and they didn’t deserve that. His eyes painted the scene before, forever etched into his memory to haunt him forevermore. Simon was staring at him with incredulous betrayal; Jace vaguely noted that Simon hadn’t actually thought Jace was going to go through with it. 

‘Guess I’m full of surprises.’

Jace knew he found a new, truer part of his nature; he got to figure more about himself than he ever wanted to. 

‘Like father, like son.’ 

He sensed his mouth form the look of bitter elation. At last he could no longer lie to himself, but Simon misinterpreted Jace’s expression. For once, Simon actually looked like a vampire. Simon’s look of shock and hatred defied description; he was vibrating with emotion, manacles clacking like ominous clapping, as if approving of Simon’s righteous fury. He bared his teeth, the fangs gleaming brightly against the stark metal. His accusation filled eyes was louder than a shout and he tore his gaze away from Jace with the utmost disgust. If Jace didn’t know any better, he was more than disappointed, he was actually hurt. 

“You son of a bitch!” he spat.

Valentine frowned, moving forward and Simon shoved himself between Valentine and Maia, face contorted with protective snarling. Disgust rippled on Valentine’s face. For a split second, they both looked so monstrous, Jace couldn’t tell who was who anymore. Valentine held the sword tight, thrusting it in between Simon and Maia, like an obscene barrier. Simon eyed it warily. Simon turned to look at Maia, and they stared at one another; Jace felt as if he was intruding. Maia’s face was pale, and she was trembling all over. Her eyes were wide and filling up quickly. She was stripped of all dignity. 

Jace winced; she wasn’t getting to keep that, Valentine wouldn’t let her. Maia’s breath was coming out in gasps, chest heaving. Her top was straining, skin gleaming feverishly. Her heart was pumping in lusty fear; it knew what was about to happen; her lips quivered as if her heart was going to spill out of them. She was beautiful. She was still beautiful even with the stench of terror, and as Valentine moved closer to unlock her chains, she thrashed away from him, trying to avoid the brush of Valentine’s fingers. She grabbed for Simon, gripping his hand tight. He didn’t let go, trying to cover her. Valentine moved towards her; Jace was horribly reminded of the faerie tales of babies being taken from their cradles, and he shuddered in revulsion. Valentine’s cool expression was frightening and it penetrated Maia’s terror stricken face, her open mouth. His large hand was expansive and horribly pale against Maia’s curving, writhing body.

“No!” she screamed.

Eyes wide and unfocused, a keening was escaping her teeth; completely devoid of self-control, like an animal in a cage. This was what she was. Her face was a slash of pure, abject terror. She shrieked the word ‘no’ over and over like a prayer. Simon moved forward, but with an impassive face, Valentine pressed the sword against Simon. It was big enough to cover his neck and a part of his face. The sword hissed as it burned Simon’s flesh and blood bubbled beneath the surface of violated skin.

“Simon!” Maia howled.

“Unclean creature. This blade scorches you as surely as the word of God.”

Maia’s burns ached with empathy. Maia was being hauled to her feet; Maia and Simon were still holding hands, as if glued together and nothing in the universe had the strength to pull them apart. The chains that held Simon strained loudly, their accusation echoing in the tiny room. Valentine pressed the blade harder to Simon, who screamed loudly as steam began to rise from him.

“Leave him alone!” Maia wailed. “Please, please don’t do this!”

She continued to beg; struggling more intensely, beginning to curse at them. Simon pulled against his restraints, finally twisting away from the sword; he shouted Maia’s name and she was sobbing out his. Valentine finally wrenched her away and she shrieked loud enough to damage hearing. Simon leapt up with a snarl, and Valentine lifted one foot and kicked Simon with enough force to send him flying. As Simon glided through the air, the chains yanked him back with enough force to yank his bones out of his sockets. He hit the metal hard enough for him to vibrate, rivets shaking on impact. 

Maia thrashed in Valentine’s arms. He could have knocked her out, but he didn’t and her pleas left him unmoved. Jace thought Valentine kept her awake simply because she wasn’t worth the effort to quiet. Despair at how far his father sunk, was felt equal to the revulsion in Jace’s heart. Maia whipped her head around to look at Jace, her curses rebounding as she pleaded with burning eyes.

“Help me. Oh please. Goddamn it help me!”

Maia stretched out her arms to Jace. She had slim arms, like they were made for supplication. She quivered, put onto the rack and ready for the anvil to fall, and ready for the alter. Jace shuddered at the tears streaming down her face, knowing he’d never enter a church again. 

Jace was frozen in place, watching Maia’s perfect lilt mouth move like a dying fish. There was nothing he could do and he let her curses and pleas wash over him, a tide of deserved pain. Valentine moved forward, swinging Maia around and slinging her over his broad shoulder. Jace vividly remembered when Valentine would sweep him up in his arms, letting Jace have a spectacular view as he rode on his father’s shoulders. Jace felt like throwing up.

As Valentine passed the doorway, Maia clung to it with all her might. Her claws had grown out and they were digging into the metal. Her gold eyes met Jace’s with an accusation, looking sharp with hysteria. Valentine gave a final tug, yanking Maia with enough force that her claws were left behind in the metal as Maia screamed in pain. Valentine strode out of the room, Maia’s screams getting higher and higher as all reason left her forever. Jace could see her struggle as Valentine walked farther down the hall, until they were completely out of sight, but Maia could still be heard. Jace didn’t want to be there when her screams stopped. Jace would never forget the sound, even worse than the silence that would come after it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simon slumped on the floor. Jace didn’t blame him. He was amazed at himself for still being able to stand. He had been chained to the spot. Jace felt drained by eternity. It was probably only a few minutes, but it would stretch on forever, on repeat in time. It was a reminder of his sin. Simon turned to Jace; it was another eternity in a second, and when Simon looked at him with eyes full of hate, Jace was glad. Simon was so full of hate he was choking on it, unable to speak for a few moments.

“You…bastard. You sick, fucking bastard.” 

Jace could only nod. This was true. The pure venom in the voice wasn’t enough to deter. Rather, it acted as a stimulant. Jace bent down, stumbling as his fingers trembled. It took him several tries to pull out the knife out of his boot. Simon watched, radiating mistrust; he jutted out his chin, revealing a red bruise, and Jace had an odd thought that Isabelle would be proud of Simon. 

“Go on. Stab me. Show Dad how it’s done.”

Jace didn’t answer. He bent down to Simon’s level. Simon spat angrily; he missed Jace’s face, but he got the edge of his shirt. 

“You’re disgusting. The worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Jace’s hands fiddled with the chains, prodding and twisting them with the point of his knife. He shivered in the chill of the room and thought of how to word this.

“I know.” He struggled to speak. “I know.”

The metal was clicking loudly as Jace tried to hurry.

“We haven’t got much time. You have to warn the clave-”

“That Valentine’s got one more mook on the list?”

“You don’t have to believe me.”

Simon snorted.

Jace pressed on. “By all means don’t. I deserve it-I deserve it all. Just warn the Clave.”

“The Clave can screw itself.”

“Oh they will. Valentine will make sure of that. At the very least, warn the Lightwoods’, Clary-”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about Clary!” Simon turned to him with livid eyes.

“Ok, ok, but please, I’m begging you-keep them safe. They have to know what Valentine is planning.”

The cuffs clicked open, clacking to the floor. Simon rubbed his wrists, eyeing Jace as he watched Jace take off the ones strapped to Simon’s ankle. Jace gritted his teeth at the noise the manacles made. He scooted back to give Simon his space as the vampire tested out his freedom. He looked at Jace with disbelief that changed into loathing the longer he looked at Jace. 

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.” Jace stood, not daring to offer Simon a hand.

Jace watched Simon rise quickly with a fierce measured look. Simon looked ready to hit Jace, but he didn’t mind. He would have let Simon do anything he wanted for as long as he felt like it. Simon seemed to know this, eyes narrowing.

“You think being sorry is gonna cut it? I’d send you to hell myself, but it wouldn’t mean much because you wouldn’t put up a fight. I hate you and I hate the fact that you aren’t resisting, but I’d hate myself for beating up some one who won’t fight back.” He gave a dark laugh. “I just can’t ever hate you fair and square can I?”

Jace tried to smile. “Sure you can. Please, don’t forgive. I never will.”

There was a loud clang in the cold air of the ship. Both stiffened in fear. Jace swallowed.

“We have to hurry.”

Simon stared at him. “What? Just what are you planning?”

“C’mon on, you want to leave right?”

Simon gave him a look, but followed him all the same. Jace remembered the way back to the door leading to the deck. He made sure that Simon was keeping pace, their footsteps making no more sound than a whisper. Jace spoke as they walked.

“Go to the Institute; tell them Valentine is one more away from finishing the ritual. The Hunters were right, Valentine has stumbled onto the devil, which lets face it, is probably more than he can handle. Valentine isn’t going to stop. He believes that he is doing God’s work and he doesn’t care what he has to do in order to get the job done. There is no bribe or bargain they can strike with him.”

“So how…?"

Jace shuddered. “I wish I knew.”

“You know that-”

“I know. I’m a traitor to the Clave, but all the same. I have to warn them. I don’t care what happens to me; I’ll take whatever punishment gladly, but I need you to do this for me, please.”

They reached the top step. Jace felt the door, pushing it open. A shaft of moonlight lit the two of them up, illuminating the luster of their hair and elongating their shadows.

“What about you?” Simon asked.

“I’ll buy you time.”

Simon didn’t look surprised. “So you aren’t coming with me?” 

“No.”

Simon stared at Jace for one long moment, his eyes sharp with thought. Jace realized he hadn’t given Simon enough credit for his perceptiveness. He wasn’t disappointed when Simon next spoke.

“So you’re buying me time will probably involve death.”

“Daddy dearest might not like me interfering with his plans.”

Simon stared at Jace, his next words more serious than condemning.  
“If you really want to make up for what you’ve done, don’t die. That’s cheating.”

“Fair enough.”

Jace walked onto the deck, Simon on his heels. Together they raced forward. Jace pointed to the vampire bike. To his relief, it was right where he left it. It gleamed like a living thing in the moonlight. Jace saw Simon shiver when he looked at it. Jace nodded his head to the bike. Simon looked back at Jace, dark eyes unreadable; there was another weighty pause before Simon asked Jace another question.

“What are you going to do?”

“Improvise.”

It was a simple statement said without cockiness and Simon was giving him another searching gaze, this was one unexpectedly filled with something that looked like sadness. Simon didn’t look as if he trusted Jace, but he swung his leg over the bike. It growled to life beneath Simon, rumbling as if pleased its rider was a vampire. Simon kicked off, letting the bike shoot forward and hurtle down the bow. Simon put more throttle to the engine, and it roared beneath him as flew into the air. Simon didn’t look back as Jace watched him for a moment before going back to the doorway and disappearing back inside the darkness of the ship.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Simon pounded on the door, the reverberations making his knuckles rattle. The motorcycle stood discarded on the curb as he knocked on the Institute’s doors. He slammed with both fists, rang the bell, than pounded the door again. The door was wrenched open just as he was about to knock again. Mayrse Lightwood stood over the threshold, looking anxious. Her face fell as soon as she saw it was him. Simon realized she hoped it was someone else. Next to her, almost close enough to breath down her neck was the Inquisitor. Simon was surprised he hadn’t noticed her before; she was staring at him as though he was something stuck to her shoe, but worse.

He could see that behind her were the shadowy forms of who must have been Alec and Isabelle. The tall form of Magnus looming behind them. They were peering anxiously over the shoulders of the two women, and trying to keep Simon’s attention. He felt a crashing in his chest; he had no idea how to tell them what happened. 

“Well?” she huffed. “What do you want Downworlder?” her voice full of flint.

“Jace.” He panted.

Maryse blinked sharply as if splashed with water. She was wire tight, the lines on her face stretched so sharply she didn’t look real. It was an incredibly agonizing face and Simon had to stop himself from pulling away from her when she grabbed his shoulders, her hands digging so firmly in place, Simon thought she might actually shatter her fingers. Simon knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him, but he winced; Maryse seemed to realize this and she pulled back, and Simon saw the look of someone trying very hard to stay composed.

He ignored the strangely triumphant look on the Inquisitor’s face. She looked even more contorted than Maryse, and she was actually disturbing Simon. He ignored the woman and locked eyes with Maryse, and felt a strange prickling all over his body. Maryse’s eyes widened and Simon turned to see the sky becoming lighter.

“Hurry, to the Sanctuary.”

Maryse led him across a courtyard, and Simon noted at one time the Institute really had been a church. They passed a bench overgrown with vines and flowers. Maryse opened a large slab-like door that was rusting at the edges, it screamed loudly in protest when it was pushed open. Simon winced; Maia’s screams were fresh in his ears. He followed Maryse as she rapidly descended the passageway. It was dark, and a small part of Simon was relieved for it. 

It led to a large circular room. Pillars surrounded the center and in the center itself was a large pillar. The ceiling was large, doming when it finally closed in. The room was more spacious than it looked, but Simon was feeling oddly claustrophobic. The cleanliness of the marble pillars hurt his eyes. 

A loud slam made him jump. A staircase leading to a door was the source. The door had burst open and revealed The Inquisitor, looking very aggrieved at having to follow Maryse. Following closely was Isabelle and Alec. Magnus descended the stairs slower, looking no more pleased than anyone else. An imposing man who Simon assumed was Isabelle and Alec’s father loomed behind them. In fact they all looked distressed. Most distressed of all was someone who was behind Magnus, someone with red hair. Clary was staring wide eyed at Simon, and quite possibly with relief. 

“Simon!” Isabelle shouted.

Simon blinked at the almost frantic cry; it wasn’t like Isabelle to get worked up over things, but she pushed past the Inquisitor, whose lip curled when Isabelle pushed past her to get to Simon’s side. 

“What is this place?” Simon asked.

Isabelle waved her hands, as if hurrying to banish the question away. Alec however answered.

“It’s a part of the Institute that was deliberately left an unconsecrated ground. It’s for people who need to speak to Shadowhunters but can’t get inside the Institute. We don’t use this room much anymore.”

“What about Jace?” Maryse sharply asked.

The group tensed, like hunting dogs on point. The air was charged and all their eyes were on Simon. He felt like a stage light was burning his skin. He had no idea how to say what he had to say. 

“We don’t know where he is!” cried Isabelle. “He gave Magnus the slip.”  
Magnus scowled at that, but he elaborated. “He is somewhere where I cannot track him.” 

The Inquisitor looked as if she were gloating; her face pale and hollow and Simon shuddered. 

“So he must be by a body of water.” Alec reasoned.

Simon tried to hold back the painful spasm on his face; Magnus seemed to understand where this was headed, and he looked at Alec with saddened eyes. Simon was selfishly glad that he wasn’t the only person who had figured it out. He tried to avoid the Inquisitor’s gaze, feeling the weight of the truth slamming down on him. He wished the truth wasn’t so painful to say. He was confused why he didn’t wanted to gleefully shout about what Jace had done, but the somber, worried faces of a family kept the words from coming out. 

“He is.” Simon choked out.

“Where?!” Isabelle shouted.

He flinched, but the undivided attention wouldn’t let up. He struggled to let the words out, but if he anyone cared, he didn’t notice. He took a shuddery breath. 

“He’s on-”

“The pier. On Valentine’s ship to be precise.” The Inquisitor cut in.

Her voice was like razors, gleefully cutting. The Lightwoods’ stared at her, disbelieving. She seemed to revel in their shock, and as if she had been rehearsing for this very moment, pulled something out of her pocket. It was a tiny glimmering shard. It looked like it was reflecting a piece of meadow. Simon heard Clary give a little gasp of recognition. The Inquisitor didn’t let anyone speak, she was more than happy to explain herself.

“Yes this is the portal, frozen in mirror form. I know all about its significance to Jonathan, and I knew it wouldn’t be far from his person. So I had made a copy. I simply switched the two, and put a tracking rune on it. I saw everything.” Her eyes gleamed with something poisonous. “Jonathan Morgenstern is as guilty of treason as his father.” 

“What?! How dare you?!” Isabelle sputtered with rage. “Jace is nothing like that horrible-"

“Explain.” Maryse’s taunt face jutted out.

“He was helping his father carry out the Ritual of Infernal Conversion.” 

The Inquisitor’s face was like a jack o’ lantern, horribly contorted with amusement and rage. The combination was the strangest thing Simon had ever seen, and it was gloating when it stated the facts. She turned to Simon, and he fought the urge to bare his teeth at her. 

“I believe the vampire knows. He witnessed the whole thing; that other sad downworlder being dragged away screaming. As I recall, it was Jonathan who chose her to die first.”

“Shut up!” screamed Isabelle.

Isabelle grabbed Simon by the shoulders; her grip was a strong as her mothers’. She was shaking Simon hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Alec gently pried her away, but she took no notice, still staring at Simon, challenging him to contradict the Inquisitor, but at the same time she looked very vulnerable. Alec was staring at Simon with flashing eyes, and Simon had never seen him look so desperate before. 

“It’s not true, Simon, it can’t be true.” Isabelle insisted.

Simon didn’t want his words to be twisted by the Inquisitor, who would never say that Jace had changed his mind. Without wanting to, Simon recalled the look of anguish as he watched Jace watch his father carry Maia away. He truly did feel guilty about what he had done. Simon did not want to admit it, but the torture was clear on Jace’s face when he was in that room. He’d never forget, just as much as Simon knew he wouldn’t. 

It almost seemed like a violation that the Inquisitor would get to see their pain, get some chance to control it, and make the story hers. Simon cringed, now knowing that she was watching and hadn’t done anything about it, no call for reinforcements to save them all. He was abruptly angry.

“Well didn’t you hear us?” he asked her.

The Inquisitor scoffed. “Obviously not, but it is more than clear he is guilty. I saw enough.” 

“Really?” Simon asked.

They all watched as the two of them spoke; it was almost like a tennis match, words going back and forth. Maryse looked like she wanted to step in. The Inquisitor began to speak again.

“Tell the truth vampire, or I can force it out of you. Don’t forget, that I am the might of the Clave and you are just a downworlder.”

Simon thought he had felt enough of helplessness, but apparently it wasn’t through with him yet. He nodded, and their reactions were terrible. Isabelle shouted at him, flinging curses like they were heavy objects and Alec’s jaw was locked tight, Maryse had closed her eyes and for a brief seconded looked like the most defeated person in the world. Simon did not want to face Clary’s reaction. He tried to protest, on behalf of Jace, even though he was angry at himself for doing so. The Inquisitor battered his defenses away as he tried to speak for Jace. She pried the truth out of him mercilessly, as if she wielded a large crowbar. 

People suddenly began to speak all at once, and they deafened Simon, his vampire hearing shoving the words into his ears. Isabelle had to be held back by her mother, who was being berated for her lack of control over her children. Alec would not let Magnus touch him as he demanded details of what had happened, quietly furious. Simon jumped when he felt someone brush up against him. It was Clary, and she was also looking at him with desperation. He wanted to scream at her to stop looking at him like that, but he reined it in. She stared so deeply into his eyes that he shivered, wishing it was for a different reason. 

“Is it true?” there was no wavering in her voice.

Simon wanted to hold her in his arms. She looked so delicate, like some piece of china flame. So pale and slim, but he had to resist. He bowed his head, and heard her sharp deep intake of breath. He wanted to reassure her, but there wasn’t much he could do.

“He didn’t want to. I realized it the second he walked into that room. Valentine made him choose which one to…take first.”

“So…Maia is dead?” 

“…Yeah. Valentine needs only one downworlder left to complete the ritual. Jace helped me escape. I’d be dead if he hadn’t done that.”

“We tried to find him. Magnus called me, and I wish I let-” Clary had to say something else. “So, anyway, I called Luke and we looked, and he called the Hunters. They came with us, but the Inquisitor wouldn’t let them in. The Inquisitor even said ‘”A mundane is no match for even the lowest downworlder. It’s simply not possible.”’ She barely let Luke get in.”

“Luke is here? I didn’t see him.” 

“He’s in the back; nothing could have kept him out.” Clary gave Simon a wobbly smile. “I think he’s going to tell the hunters about what’s going on when we leave. They’re probably still outside.” 

“Yeah probably.” Simon felt too weak to smile.

They stared at each other, the sounds of the chaos surrounding them was fading away. Simon wished it was just them, and Clary nodded her head even though he hadn’t said a word. 

“Silence!” bellowed the Inquisitor.

Amazingly, this did silence them.

“I know exactly what is going on. From this moment on, I am assuming command on the grounds that the Lightwoods are unfit to run this Institute. You have allowed downworlders and even mundanes inside these walls, letting them do as they please, dictating terms to us, and daring to think they know better than the law! That is not only proof enough of your staggering incompetence, but that you have most certainly been in collusion with Valentine!”

“Absurd!” roared Robert Lightwood. “Where is the proof?!”

“I’ll tell you!” the Inquisitor shouted. “In fact, I think I can fill in the gaps quite nicely. It goes like this: Valentine and his followers had planned their uprising so well, that even if it failed, there would always be someone to carry it on. Those followers were you. You have never abandoned Valentine, but instead faked their surrender, accepting exile to win back the graces of the Clave. When Valentine sent Jonathan here to you, he knew you would raise him as a spy, loyal only to him. So that he could cripple the Clave up from under itself. A perfect little weapon, only I have figured it out.” 

This was met with outrage of the loudest kind, as all the Lightwoods protested. Simon could finally see Luke, and he was gazing at the Inquisitor with pity.

“Imogen, please be reasonable. Whatever happened on the ship, it’s clear that Valentine is the problem. I know what happened with Stephen was-” 

“Be quiet!” she thundered back. “That has no bearing on this situation, werewolf! Valentine is an irredeemable monster, as you know full well.” She sneered at Luke.

Simon felt Clary tremble next to him, but she said nothing, her green eyes hard as jewels as she stared at the Inquisitor with loathing. 

“There is only one remedy for this. I will call the Clave, reinforcements will be brought and we will attack Valentine’s ship. Jonathan Morgenstern will be arrested on the spot, if he is cooperative. That is his best outcome, since taking him alive might not be possible.”

Maryse looked fierce and sickened, more so than the rest of the Lightwoods and she seemed to be the only one left with the power to speak, but her voice was drowned out by the Inquisitor.

“At the time of his arrest, he will be dealt with, as will all of you. I will order a full investigation into this family and its poor excuse for an institute.” She stared at them all with burning eyes. “Now, call for reinforcements at once! We will make an assault on the Morgenstern’s’ as soon as the Conclave arrives!”

“Imogen-” Luke tried to speak.

“Inquisitor.” She intoned. “Leave immediately. You have no business here, and neither do those mundanes that came with you. If any of them, or you, tries to interfere in Nephilim business again, I will put blades to all of you.” She rounded on Magnus. "You, however, your services are required. I know for a fact Valentine will have put powerful wards around his ship. You will strip them down, and I will not tolerate a refusal.”

Magnus smiled tightly, and seemed to gather himself. “Well when you put it that way, I am more than happy to be of assistance.” He didn’t seem able to come up with a wittier remark.

“We will discuss the battle plans when the reinforcements arrive.” The Inquisitor motioned for the Shadowhunters to follow her back upstairs.

The entire time that the Inquisitor had been speaking she had progressively begin to sound deranged. It was clear however, that she was in charge and as Luke began to leave, Simon realized something.

“Wait, I can’t go out there-sunlight.” 

Simon was glad that it was Maryse who addressed him; she only spared the Inquisitor a small glance before speaking to Simon. 

“You can stay here until the sun sets, then I would return home if I were you.”

Simon nodded quickly. “I will. Thanks for letting me stay Mrs. Lightwood.”

Amazingly, that seemed to earn him a small smile. It was gone as quickly as it came. She followed her husband and she squeezed his hand as they began to walk up the steps. They ignored Luke, who grabbed a hold of Magnus’s arm and was speaking to him in low tones; there was a small flash of what could have been a cell phone, but Simon couldn’t be sure. Their conversation was brief and intense, and they moved in opposite directions. Magnus reluctantly walked up the stairs with the rest of the Lightwoods’, and Luke went to the two of them, putting a hand on Clary’s shoulder. 

“I want to stay here with Simon.” She said immediately. 

“Clary-” Simon began.

“No, I don’t want you to be here alone.”

“I’ll be ok. Really.”

“Simon let me do this, please.”

Luke didn’t look surprised at Clary’s insistence and his grip on her shoulder tightened. Simon nodded; he knew Clary wouldn’t back down. The three walked back into the corridor. Luke was grim faced, and it made Simon long for the old days when he couldn’t imagine Luke ever looking like that. They moved out of sight; the others had departed and they were left alone, but Luke didn’t seem to want to take chances. Simon and Clary traded looks; they waited for Luke to say what he had to.

“I spoke to Magnus. He’ll let us know what’s going on.”

“You’re going to help?” Clary asked.

Luke shrugged. “You want to right? You are going to try and rescue Jace.” It was a statement. “If you insist on doing something reckless, you won’t be doing it without me.” 

Clary quickly wrapped her arms around Luke and gripped tight. “Thank you.”

Luke shrugged, as if rescuing captives and assaulting villains was normal. “No big deal. I had a feeling you’d try to pull some sort of stunt.”

Clary’s laugh was muffled by Luke’s heavy jacket. “So now what?”

“We wait then when they make their plan, we go with it.” Simon said. 

“Wait.” Clary turned her head to look at Simon. “We?”

“Yeah. We. Clary, did you seriously think I wasn’t going to come with?”

“It’ll be dangerous!”

“It’s been dangerous for a long time now. You’re going aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then there’s nothing left to talk about.”

The firmness in Simon’s voice surprised him; he knew she felt guilty for how his life had gone topsy-turvy, but he didn’t care, not when she was standing so close to him. Simon didn’t blame her in the slightest and he willed his thoughts to her. Clary nodded once, her eyes suspiciously bright. The air felt charged, and Simon felt the odd wellspring of understanding, and he knew he was on the urge of figuring something out. Luke gently disentangled himself from Clary, and began to speak again. 

“I’ll better get going. I’ll pick you guys up at sunset; it’ll take at least all day for the reinforcements to arrive and I have a feeling that when The Conclave will get here, it won’t take long for them to prepare to mount an assault on Valentine’s ship.” He became very serious. “If you insist on fighting, then stay close to me. Don’t deviate from the plan we make, because it’ll have to coincide with the Clave’s. Magnus will call with the details when he gets the plan, since he is such a big part of it.”

“I take it you are going to get weapons?” Simon asked.

“Yes, and to talk to those hunters.” he shook his head, almost smiling. “Those people are a determined bunch. They’ll be there, I’m sure of it, so the more numbers all the better for us.”

“I’ve got Jo’s number, and I can let her know what’s going on.” Simon volunteered. 

“Ok.”

Luke gave them both fleeting smiles before walking out the door; Simon shielded by Clary when the light spilled out between the cracks. Clary didn’t move even after Luke shut he door; Simon breathed in her scent. She gently clung to him, more of an embrace than anything else. He felt a painful bliss when she stayed this close, her hair tickling his neck. He was very close to figuring something out. 

“Clary let out a breath. “ So…”

“So.” 

“I take it, you’ll tell me this is stupid?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Because Jace might be a traitor?” her voice so hesitant and soft, it gave him pause. 

“You think there is some truth to it?” 

Clary gave a little shrug. “Maybe. I thought because of the way he was raised, he might not want to, but…” she sighed. “You know when you told me about not being able to trust he person you loved, and how painful it was for you? Well it hurt me to hurt you, even if I didn’t mean it. Now that I know how that feels, it’s a wonder that you don’t hate me.” She sounded almost close to tears. “With my mother, Jace, and you-I keep hurting everyone I love.”

“I don’t hate you, and I know Jace doesn’t. He feels the same. He made a mistake, and he knew it, and it was painful for him. I’m not lying to protect you, but I think he just-“he broke off. “I don’t know why I’m defending him. He was the cause of Maia’s death, and it kills me, to know that whenever he gets hurt, it’ll hurt you. So I don’t think I can forgive him, no matter how sorry he is. I know you probably don’t want to here this, because you love him.”

Clary inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. Its wrong, but…” She pressed herself harder to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “I do. I don’t expect you to forgive him, I’m having a hard time thinking about what he did, but maybe I can still have faith in him, in the way I do with you. I think, we’ve all done the same things to each other, so maybe we’ll hurt each other less now.” She sounded so hopeful. “I’m sorry for putting you through so much.”

“I don’t mind.” He was surprised at how much he meant it. “Really. Have faith in him, I’ll always love you, no matter who you love.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I’ve always wanted-“she broke off. “Why are you telling me all this?”  
Simon blinked. “Because it’s true.”

“I know. It just feels like you’re saying goodbye.” A thought came to her. “You know, Valentine needs vampire’s blood to finish the ritual, and if you go on that ship…”

“I know, but that doesn’t matter. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” 

“When we get there, don’t leave my sight.”  
______________________________________________________________________________

Waiting for sunset didn’t feel long enough. Simon never felt so peaceful before when Clary was in his arms. He wanted to pretend that it was just the two of them, and no danger and they would be together forever. The time for pretending was over, and they reluctantly moved apart when Clary’s phone buzzed, letting her know Luke was there. She flipped her phone open, reading the text that she had gotten. 

“Looks like the Clave finished making the plans, and Luke’s just waiting for us so he can tell everyone.”

They picked themselves off the floor, and opened the door. Simon breathed deep; the cool air sharpened his senses even further. The fight was almost there, looming over the horizon. He realized he should probably be more nervous, but when so many people would around him, he could only feel nervous for them. Luke was waiting for them with his blue pick up truck, and he nodded for them to hurry. He was the only one there. Simon turned to look back at the Institute, it looked very forbidding and he could just picture the business going on inside it. 

Wordlessly, they climbed into the truck’s cab and Luke drove half a block away and pulled into a parking lot. The only cars that were parked there was the black Impala, and a large red and brown truck. It was newer looking than Luke’s and Clary knew that even with her limited car knowledge that it was a different type. Everyone was milling about, waiting for them. Simon followed Clary as she clambered out of the truck before him. 

Clary watched Dean and Sam pull things out of their trunk, and Cas was handling their blades with a look of concentration. She saw Jo standing next to an older woman who could only have been her mother. Simon walked to them, and Clary followed. She felt suddenly shy as Simon introduced Clary to Jo’s mother, and Simon began to talk a bit shyly himself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Harvelle.” He said. 

“Ellen will do just fine.” She regarded him easily. “I heard about what happened at the hotel.”

“Jo was amazing.” Simon quickly said. “She saved my life, as bad as it was, she really had it covered. I would have been dead. So…I hope you’re not mad about me putting her in danger-” his eyes were wide and soft. 

Clary marveled at Simon’s near supernatural power to make anyone’s mother like him. 

Ellen roughly ruffled Simon’s hair. “No worries kid. Much as I don’t like her hunting, she’s got a straight head. I knew she’d never leave anyone behind, I ain’t mad at you, but those shadow people for allowing something so dangerous to be in their backyards’.”

Luke stepped in easily and introduced himself. Clary thought she might have been too nervous when she first got there. It seemed everyone was going to get along just fine, and the air was charged with a businesslike energy. Only Simon and she seemed out of their element. Weapons were being passed around, with Cas softly stroking the blades, and Clary saw that when he did that, runes and sigils appeared on their surfaces. He was explaining quickly.

“This script will weaken the ancients that we will undoubtedly face. It will prevent them from reforming themselves. They are not to be underestimated; many of them are poisonous on top of having incredible speed and strength.”   
Luke nodded. “I have some weapons in the trunk.”

Luke’s cell phone beeped. He flipped it open and read the message quickly. 

“Magnus says to meet him by the waterfront. They plan on bringing their own boats and take Valentine’s ship when Magnus has taken down the wards protecting the ship.” He snapped the phone shut. “I’ll lead the way.”

The Hunters nodded.

“We’ll be able to assist them. Magnus knows a way for us to board the ship with them.”

“How?”

“By using a spell. He wasn’t specific,” 

Dean suppressed a groan, but nodded all the same.

“We should get going.”

Clary watched as Sam, Dean, and Cas got in the Impala. Jo followed Ellen into their truck and Clary followed Simon and Luke back into the pickup. The two other cars followed Luke’s, making the three cars turn down the streets at a frantic pace. Clary felt that she was a part of some weird low budget war movie. She shuddered, her body unable to keep calm. She didn’t think it would be like this, always wondering when the fight would end, and if it didn’t, would she ever get used to it?

Clary reached for Simon’s hand. It felt cool and it made goosebumps rise on her arms. That didn’t stop her from squeezing tight and she welcomed the pressure when he squeezed back.  
______________________________________________________________________________

The waterfront was deserted; there were no sounds of workmen. No shouting or the loud sounds of machinery or trucks. Clary wasn’t used to the silence, it was creepy. Water lapped at the docks, concrete dark where water splashed. The darkening sky made the water look foreboding and filled with danger. Clary couldn’t help but peer out onto the river, wondering what they were going to face. All she had was her mother’s stele. She touched the burn on her forearm; it felt good to her fingertips to trace its pattern. 

All around her, everyone unlocked their doors and began to gear up. Clary stared. Sam and Dean wore flannel as naturally as Luke did. There was none of the tough black material Shadowhunters wore. It wasn’t as sophisticated, but they carried themselves in a similar manner. It was obvious that they had done this before. Offers of spare machetes or holy water were passed around. Clary watched as Dean slipped knife after knife onto his body, and Sam showing Cas how to load a shotgun. Ellen was swapping large blades with Jo; Clary felt an unexpected strain of jealousy. Clary could have had that with Jocelyn, but her mother never bothered to show her, or talk about. This was something they could never share and the desperate longing surprised Clary. Just because she disliked fighting, didn’t mean she couldn’t learn…

“Here.”

Clary turned and Luke pressed a large knife in her hand. He looked regretful. His hands still clasped hers, showing her how to hold it properly, and his arms swung hers in quick arcs and jabs. Luke didn’t have to speak, and Clary was grateful that he didn’t. As he gave her a belt and strapped in a set of daggers, Clary could see Simon getting a similar lesson from Jo. Clary glanced away, and stared back at Luke, who was looking at her with a wistful expression.

“I’m going against your mother’s wishes, but…” he sighed. “ You look so much like Jocelyn right now.”

Clary wished he didn’t sound that way and for a moment, nothing would relieve it. If only she knew a way to let him know it wasn’t his fault. 

“Is that Magnus?” Simon asked.

Clary turned. The tall figure was indeed familiar, but she could see why no one could make him out right away. Magnus was not wearing one of his usual flamboyant outfits, but a somber looking frock coat with black pants. There was no glitter or jewelry, and let left his hair down.

“Huh.” Dean murmured. “Left Michael Jackson at home then?"

No one else said anything as Magnus strode to them and he was looking unusually grim, but Clary couldn’t help questioning his appearance.

“No glitter?” 

There was a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Not quite apropos my dear.” He turned to Luke. “Now, I need to borrow your truck.” He pointed to Ellen. “And yours too.”

“Mine?”

“Yes. Since we have no boats we’ll have to improvise.”

Dean shifted protectively in front of the impala. This earned a smirk from Magnus. 

“Relax, yours is too small for what I have in mind.”

Dean looked as if he couldn’t decide to be relieved or offended. Magnus continued.

“I’ll put a spell on the two trucks. This will make them be able to drive on the water. One truck will be for me. I can’t physically go onto the ship to take down the defenses Valentine has put up. They are incredibly strong and can only be stripped from a distance. That’s the only support I’ll be able to give you. The other truck will go with the shadowhunter boats. It’s up to you which car you’ll decide to go in.” 

“Will you need a lot of cover?” Ellen asked. 

“Honestly I think I can handle it. It’ll be up to the rest of you to destroy the demons on the ship. The shadowhunters will have their hands full.” 

“We’ll leave you to it. What do you need from us?” Ellen asked again. 

“Just your best.”

Ellen nodded and Magnus quickly set to work on the trucks, chalking pentagrams and their accompanying runes onto them. They gleamed faintly and Magnus placed a hand on each truck and began to chant. The markings looked brighter as the blue sparks frantically burst and showered the two cars. Dean and Jo shouted as Sam and Ellen jumped back. Simon whistled, which earned a smile from Luke. Only Cas didn’t react, albeit a slight widening of the eyes.

Clary’s heart was beating double time, and she knew she wouldn’t forget this for as long as she lived, even if her life happened to only last a few more hours. As the spell finished, the wind died down and Magnus looked usual self again. He faced the group again. 

“Follow me.” 

Magnus gestured to Luke’s truck. 

“Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Luke said.

“Don’t thank me yet. You still have to get on the ship.” Magnus replied. 

Luke smiled grimly. “True enough.” 

“Alright, if you want to board the ship, get in Mrs. Harvelle’s car.” Magnus said. 

They all moved to Ellen’s car. Clary, Luke, and Simon followed each other into the passenger seat as Jo hurried to grab shot gun. Dean gave Cas a nudge to get into the backseat as well, with Sam getting inside last. 

“Well this won’t be awkward at all.” He grunted as he was pressed in between Cas and Sam.

Simon wriggled in his seat as everyone crammed together. Clary started to tell Simon about the time everyone had been shoved into the elevator at the institute, making Jo laugh. There was enough room for Luke to be in the very back, where the weapons were stored, but even with that, it was very hard to maneuver around next to all the piles of weapons. 

“Let’s get this show on the road then.” Ellen said. 

The mood sobered and they didn’t speak as Ellen began to drive beside Magnus and off the pavement and into the water. Clary listened to Dean’s sharp intake of breath, and Clary couldn’t blame him. This was one of the strangest things that had ever happened to her, which from the way her life had been going, was saying a lot. Clary twisted back in her seat to see Luke smile at her. 

The wheels didn’t sink as they spun forward sending up sprays of water. Clary watched the water ripple, imagining hideous monsters lurking beneath the surface, waiting to drag them all down into the dark water. She shuddered, but somehow it was better than thinking about Jace. 

Her brother, who in fact could be a traitor in the Clave’s eyes for ‘siding’ with Valentine. She didn’t want it to be true, but she remembered how he looked that night at Renwick’s’, the way Valentine taunted Jace on just how to kill him. Deep down, Clary could understand why Jace would want to go see his father, but what Valentine did had no justifications and Jace knew that…right? Clary didn’t know anymore, she just kept thinking in circles. What she needed was Jace, to talk to him…

“Hey.” 

Clary blinked. Simon’s hand was holding a firm grip on her shoulder. It felt like an anchor and Clary smiled weakly back. 

“It’ll be okay.”

Clary stared hard at Simon. She saw trust and confidence in his eyes, the full force of his feelings for her were clear. It made her want to live up to his expectations. She knew Jace looked at her in the same way, and in a sense that made them have something in common. It went full circle. Clary covered the hand that was grasping her shoulder with such soft pressure. They couldn’t go back to the way things were, but maybe that was a good thing. Clary leaned on him, catching the shimmer of his eyes.

“We’ll find him.”

The two nodded in unison. The truck began to slow. Clary watched eagerly out the window and stared in shock. Small dark boats, more like skiffs, were gliding through the water towards a looming ship. The shadowhunters had Valentine’s ship surrounded. Magnus pulled up next to them, leaning his head out the window as he cut the ignition. 

“This is as far as I go. Try not to die.”

“Same to you.” Ellen called.

Ellen sped the car up and Clary managed to catch watch Magnus shouted after her.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with your car if you do!”

Clary shivered when she heard Ellen’s gruff laugh. Her car gathered a bit more speed as they shrank away from Luke’s pickup. Clary bit her lip and tore her gaze away from Magnus and looked forward. Simon gave a sharp inhale of breath almost in unison with Jo. Clary looked at him in askance, and he pointed. Clary squinted and then gasped. She poked her head out the window, and it was cold enough that she could watch her breath puff out and spiral up into the air. The stars gleamed against a black sky that looked soft as velvet. The skyline was bright and expansive, and if she listened hard enough, she could hear the sounds of the city. A crescent moon hung in the sky, and by its light she could make out the sleek shadowhunter boats that surrounded them. They were completely silent and Clary grimaced at all the noise the truck was making. It even looked bulky against the graceful shadowhunter’s vessels.

Clary wondered if the shadowhunters could see them that well; she knew Simon’s vampire eyes were sharper than hers, but tonight, her senses felt just as good. Maybe because this night could very well be her last, but she needed to think about the others who were beside her, trying to bring Valentine to justice.

Clary took a deep breath. Both Luke and Simon give her looks of concern, but Clary shook her head. A small rapping sound made her jump. Dean had knocked on the windows, and was now motioning her for weapons. When the truck stopped, Clary picked up sawed off shotguns and Luke flinched away when the silver was grabbed, but helped Clary pass weapons back and forth. Simon exchanged a smile with Jo as he passed her a flask of holy water. 

Ellen angled the car and Clary saw the ladder on the side of the hull. Shadowhunter vessels were angling by it too, pressing close to the car. Clary could actually see the looks of shock on the faces of the shadowhunters.

“Everybody got enough?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah I think we’re good” Sam replied.

“Be on guard.” Cas instructed.

“Yeah yeah.” Dean grumbled.

They had to struggle to get aboard, shoved aside by shadowhunter boats. Dean gave a few quick hand signals that Clary vaguely recognized from television that they were military. Clary shivered, but kept quiet as she felt the weight of the knives strapped to her as she scooted to the right, trying to keep her balance. She looked down; there were at least a couple of inches of water between the car and the ladder. Clary looked up to see dark shapes shifting above her. Shadowhunter boarding the ship, she lowered her gaze to see Dean move forward, reaching to grab the ladder. Clary moved to let him go first.

Clary watched Sam climb up the ladder and his silence surprised her. He seemed different now-in his hunter mode. Dean went next, and behind him was Cas, his trench coat flapping as the angel climbed after the brothers. Jo was next, grabbing the dark rungs quickly as Ellen followed closely behind. Clary watched in interest. If they could do it, so could she. Clary could feel Simon behind her, and she gritted her teeth. It took her a few tries to grab the ladder. It was cold and slippery and she nearly lost her balance. Heart pounding, Clary climbed carefully, breathing evenly. She reached the top, hands holding a death grip on the railing. Clary swung one leg over the side, wobbling and nearly tumbling over the edge. She gasped and Sam grabbed her arm and below her Simon put one hand on her other thigh. Clary didn’t have time to react as Sam hauled her up and over the side. He nodded to her, and together they pulled Simon up. Luke didn’t need assistance as he hauled himself onto the deck.

Shadowhunters surrounded them with looks of confusion and hostility. They stared at the motley group of Downworlders, hunters, and Clary.

“What are you doing here?!” one hissed 

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off. Luke put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, urging for silence. The shadowhunters, clad in black, looked like pieces of the night sky, torn from where they were meant to be. They stiffened slightly, like hunting dogs on point. It was done so collectively, that it was as if they were actually one person rather than a group. Clary shuddered. They seemed invincible, but she knew that couldn’t be true…

“Well, I’d bid you welcome, but you have all been rather rude.”

The shadowhunters braced for an attack as Valentine stood before them, and who was next to him was-

“Jace!” Isabelle shrieked. 

Next to Valentine, Jace seemed small and soft beside his father, who was sure and broad. Clary could see what Simon meant when he told her that Jace regretted what he had done; the cool mask that Jace wore had cracks, the anguish peeking out from beneath it. Clary stared hard and Jace only met her gaze for a moment, but he look he gave her made her whole body clench. His eyes were a burning color, dark embers of pain. Clary wanted to move, but her feet wouldn’t let her as Isabelle shouted again for Jace’s attention. Jace didn’t bother to answer either girl. Maryse was pulling Isabelle back, her face tight and she stared down Valentine, her body rigid with fury. Alec was looked oddly blank, staring at Jace. The Inquisitor pushed her way through the crowd of shadowhunters that had begun to surround Valentine and Jace. 

“I commend you all on your tenacity. My ship is well guarded. “Valentine smiled.

“Not well enough.” Maryse said.

Valentine shrugged. “At any rate, this is as far as you go. My son and I will stop you.” 

Isabelle let out a tiny sound. “Jace…please…”

Valentine smirked, eyes moving between Jace and the rest of the shadowhunters. Jace’s face had gone completely white, and there was something desperate in his eyes. He tried to speak, but nothing seemed to come out. Valentine’s smile grew bigger and Clary wanted to leap over and strangle him.

“Well, Jonathan, I believe Maryse’s daughter has something to say to you. It is rude not to answer her.”

Clary’s fury doubled. Valentine was taunting Jace again, something no father should, or would do. Jace turned to his father once, and he closed his eyes, pain marring his features, fling over them as Jace slumped his shoulders. For a fraction of a second he looked as though he might collapse. Something was happening to him as he sighed and straightened up and exhaled slowly. His eyes fluttered open, and Clary could have sworn she saw tears. He looked weak and strong at the same time, and to Clary that was oddly beautiful. Jace looked briefly back to Valentine before moving forward and he opened his mouth to speak. Before anyone could react, with only the sound of blowing fabric to let them know what happened, the Inquisitor stood before Jace, a silver blade pressed into his neck. 

“JACE!” Isabelle screamed. “What the hell are you doing?!” she shouted at the Inquisitor. 

“Be quiet little girl!” the Inquisitor snarled.

“Don’t speak to my daughter like that Imogen.” Maryse said tightly. 

The Inquisitor pressed the blade harder to Jace’s neck, and Jace winced. Clary sucked in a breath, and Dean grimaced even harder. The Inquisitor’s arms were wrapped around Jace’s shoulders, her hands in a claw like grip. Jace was effectively pinned and he froze, unable to move anything except his eyes. His eyes were dark, but somehow elated. As though he was happy to be threatened and the expression made Clary shiver. The Inquisitor’s eyes bulged in her face, which stood out from the rest of her pale, pointed face and made her look like a cartoon super villain. Her fingers curled into talons and she kept a steady grip on her weapon. She shot Valentine a look of demented triumph. 

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself Morgenstern? I have your son.” 

“That you do, but I wouldn’t underestimate him if I were you.”

“Don’t you understand?!” The Inquisitor shrieked. “Your child’s life is in my hands?!”

Valentine’s voice was calm. “True enough. I take it that you want something from me?”

“Very astute of you. Give me the mortal instruments and I’ll give you your son back. If not, I’ll slit his throat where I stand.”

Valentine merely raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

The Inquisitor sneered. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I have no doubts of your intentions.” 

The Inquisitor’s face turned from incredulous to horrified, before morphing into murderous. 

“So…you will let your child die…instead of giving-“

“I could have told you that.” Jace croaked. 

“But…” The Inquisitor sputtered. “How-“

Valentine laughed. “I understand this is a difficult concept for you, but children have to make their own decisions.”

The Inquisitor turned purple. “But-“

“Jonathan-“

Valentine never got to finish as the leathery wings of a demon descended onto the Inquisitor. Its powerful wings battered Jace, its scales cutting into his face. The Inquisitor thrashed as black talons raked across her, trying to grab her. Jace pulled away, stumbling back as the Inquisitor gasped, her teeth stained red. The creature was huge, saurian in size and scaly. Its eyes were on the sides of its head, jet black and opaque. Its long snout was like a pelican’s beak and filled to the brim with serrated teeth. Its snout battered the Inquisitor, teeth scissoring up and down on her flesh. The Inquisitor slashed at the demon, her arm blurring with motion, becoming more frantic as the creature used it weight to keep the Inquisitor boxed in. Its talons seized the Inquisitor, clamping down. The crunch of bones, the stark whiteness jutting out of mutilated flesh. The Inquisitor screamed, eyes rolling in her head as her body heaved. The winged creature lifted her up, and the Inquisitor’s blood cascaded onto the deck as she was hauled up into the air. The Inquisitor’s blade clattered to the ground as she screamed, but her cries were drowned out by screeches. There was a crunch, snapping, squishing, and squelching. A small thump was heard as a bloody lump hit the deck, and a much larger lump fell. It was the Inquisitor. She was dead. She was vivisected, her organs peeking out beneath stained clothes, and she was missing her head. 

The world exploded as ancients and demons burst onto the scene. A multitude of creatures coming at them from all sides, the creatures with fangs, tusks, claws racing towards the crowd of shadowhunters, who braced themselves for the onslaught. A six legged horse creature with a skeleton astride it charged, its rusted sword pointed straight at them. Dean shot at it and it shrieked in pain, still running towards him. Dean held his ground, shooting it again. 

“Come on you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted.

Valentine laughed and Clary made a grab for her knife, but a demon with leather wings and long claws swooped low, obscuring her view of Valentine. She screamed as the creature tried to claw her face, and Jace’s shouts were murky to her ears. Suddenly, Simon was there and he charged at the flying demon, snarling as he crashed on top of it and began to punch it wildly. The thing bellowed in anger as Simon drew blood, his hands wet with the dark color and it thrashed, its wings buffeting Clary about as she tried to reach Simon, who was gripping the monster tight as it tried to throw him off. Clary flinched when Simon struggled to sink his teeth into the grey hide. Blood spurted between the gaps in Simon’s teeth as he clung tenuously to the demon. A sudden shout made Clary jump, and the sounds came rushing back. She realized that she had just been standing there, knife limp in her hand, staring at the space she was sure Jace used to be at. Someone shoved her, and she didn’t have time to react as another demon burst out, attacking the shadowhunter who knocked her aside. Clary didn’t recognize the board shouldered man who plunged a seraph blade into the demon that gored its tusks into the man as they simultaneously killed each other. Clary blinked, and spun around-Simon.

Clary gripped her knife tight and raced to Simon. She yelled, feeling the sound rip through her throat as she jumped onto the demon. Plunging the blade deep in the creature’s eye sockets, brackish fluid gushed onto Clary’s hands and made the handle of her seraph blade slippery. The demon gurgled, its blood bubbled in time with its death rattle. It stopped moving and Clary gasped when she felt the beast go still beneath her. She had trouble looking at Simon, and she flinched when she saw the blood smeared all over his face. His eyes were still fierce and she resisted the urge to back away, but the words that came out of her surprised her with the ease in which they came out.

“Jace.” She rasped. 

Simon frowned. “Huh?” 

“We have to get to him-he is with Valentine. I know it.”  
______________________________________________________________________________

Jo raised the rifle higher, just looking at the Enochian scrawl on the barrel was making her eyes swim, and she shot at another demon…ancient thing. It squealed as blood and black gunk spewed out of the gaping wound. In front of her Isabelle was shrieking like a harpy, her whip lashing through the throngs of troll- like ancients that had dripping tusks of venom, and they were flanked by centipede-like demons who had fangs growing out of the tops of their skulls like antlers, and they gave off a horrible reek. The centipede ancients chittered angrily, their pinchers scissoring together rapidly. Isabelle swung the whip high over her head, letting it slice the scabbed flesh of the monsters, grinning even when the blood splattered onto her clothes and in her hair. Jo covered her, and her hair whipped forward as one of Alec’s arrows shot past her and sunk deep into the folds on a centipede’s neck. Alec had already used five of his arrows; it wouldn’t be long before he had to use a shorter ranged weapon. One ancient with webbed hands bounded forward on four legs, its face was a combination of piranha and parrot. It lumbered awkwardly because its hind legs were longer than its front. It hissed at Jo, it almost went cross-eyed with its four, bulbous yellow eyes. She raised the gun higher, ignoring Alec’s shout. Jo understood what he had said in the back of her mind: he wanted her to take a shot at a less vital part while he took it down. 

Jo’s ears pricked at the sound of the bow being drawn back; amazed she could hear it and the twang of the taunt bowstring releasing its arrow just as she pushed down on the trigger. The creature howled as Jo’s bullet hit its hands, blowing a wide hole in the center and the ancient reared, bellowing in pain when the arrow lodged itself in the face. Its mouth opened wide, blood filling its maw as its teeth clacked together in agitation. The ancient reared back and collapsed on top of a centipede ancient, impaling itself of the jagged glass like teeth of the other creature. The two ancients thrashed together creating a screeching whirligig as they cut a path through the swarm of ancients. The crowed rippled again as something began to move forward to them. Isabelle’s whip flicked towards it as if guided by instinct. There was no cry of response, but the whip vibrated with tension, taunt and it thrummed with music as if it was a harp string. It was being held by someone with a powerful grip. Isabelle growled as she tried to yank her whip back and there was a tug in response. Laughter rang out amidst the snarling. 

The whip suddenly slackened as whoever was holding it strode forward. A woman with dark hair held onto the tail end of the whip, waving it at Isabelle. Her dark purple leather jacket brought out the gold of Isabelle’s whip as it coiled around the leather of her jacket. She gave the glittering whip a long glance as she pursed her plump pink lips in a mock pout. Turning her head to Isabelle, her eyes seems to flick over, like beetle shifting its wings and her eyes became jet black. 

“Awww is the widdle Nephwilim mad that I took away its toy?” 

“Bitch.” Isabelle snarled.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your name’s Meg.” Jo said.

“I’m flattered you’d notice little ol’ me.” Meg replied.

Jo’s lip curled, and she was about to shoot but Alec beat her to it. Meg didn’t seem the least bit surprised and sidestepped the arrow, which struck thin air. Dark splotches of blood spattered into the air as yelps echoed around them. Alec glared at the spot, another arrow already notched in place. Jo realized that he could see them.

“Hellhounds.” Jo shouted. 

“Figures.” Alec grimaced.

Meg just laughed. She pulled the whip tighter to her and Isabelle stumbled forward, unable to hold her ground. With a deft turn of her wrist, Meg pulled Isabelle into a tightly woven embrace. Alec shouted as Meg tugged hard on Isabelle’s hair. Without taking her eyes off of Isabelle, Meg whistled a sharp high note. Alec wasn’t fast enough as the hellhound tackled him. He raised his bow as though to use it as a shield, but there was a thick snarling as the wood of the bow began to creak from the weight of the hellhound’s jaws that Jo knew to be gripping the bow. 

“Shoot!” Alec shouted. 

Meg removed her crushing grip out of Isabelle’s scalp and raised her hand. Jo’s rifle was yanked out of her hands and she was suddenly lifted up into the air. She was hanging suspended, and she remembered feeling this way at the Dumort as vampires hauled her body around. The chill of the air burned in her lungs and she was pulled downwards, the wind screaming in her ears, making her vision blur. Jo slammed back down onto the metal of the ship’s deck and she wheezed, feeling the shock send spasms throughout her body. She tried to lift her head, but the strain threatened to make her black out. Somewhere above her Meg laughed. Jo struggled to move and a sudden stench of rotting bodies and wet heat forced her back down as she felt the weight of huge paws settle onto her chest. Jo stiffened as the breath of a hellhound swirled around her face and made her hair flutter and stick to her skin. Her hand groped for the shotgun as she tried to look for Alec and Isabelle, but a mighty snap told her the hellhound managed to crack Alec’s bow in half, and Isabelle’s shriek made Jo wince. The sharp twang of knife came out fast and hit flesh, tearing out chunks that splashed onto the deck as a high pitch keening of pain told Jo that Alec managed to wound one of the hounds. 

Alec’s sudden scream deafened Jo, and when she tried to leap up, sharp claws dug into her shoulders and legs. Heat trembled in her body where the claws were digging deeper inside her, and the quick wetness that began to ooze out was making her panic. She yelled, her arm still struggling to get the gun, but her own cries were drowned out by Isabelle’s cursing at Meg, who was raining down blow after blow on the tied up Isabelle. 

“NO! Come at me you ugly bitch!” 

Shots rang out and with a high pitched yelp of pain and Jo felt hot blood spray onto her as she felt the weight of the hellhound disappear, but it was the angry words that Jo was happy to hear. Jo scrambled to her feet as more shots rang out. Jo turned to Ellen with grin that her mother reluctantly returned as she tossed Jo her rifle. Another burst of screaming pain was revealed in Meg as she pulled a dagger from her shoulder, her black eyes narrowed in rage. Isabelle twisted herself free, her whip surging to life to punish Meg with blazing lashes, and as soon as she tore herself away from the demon someone else was suddenly there. 

“Jace!” Isabelle cried.

He didn’t spare her glance instead he studied Meg, and there was something in his eyes that made the rest of the air crackle with danger. He sneered at the sight of Meg covered in deep gashes and her ripped jacket, and disheveled hair. 

“So you’re a demon huh? I gotta say, not as threatening as I hoped.” Jace sneered. 

“Oh I just might surprise you stud.” Meg said. 

Alec glanced between the two warily, his knife bloody and he flanked his sister, who raised her whip and began to whirl it above her head like a lasso. Jo and Ellen raised their shotguns again and the five began to circle Meg, who now looked tense. The floor trembled with the weight of the hellhounds as deep grooves began to appear in the metal as their claws dug into the surface of the ship. 

“Listen….” Jace began.

“No.” said Alec. “Just go.”

“Alec!” cried Isabelle.

“No, we can talk about that later.” Alec stated. He finally looked at Jace. “Just go after Valentine.”

Jace stared at Alec, swallowing convulsively as he seemed to struggle to say something before finally nodding. He glared at Ellen and Jo with a fierceness that was startling, but Ellen recognized what it was and she didn’t hesitate to look Jace in the eyes.

“Go, we’ll take care of this.”

Jace stared at her a moment longer before giving her a tight smile. “Try not to die mundane.”

“Get outta here already.”

Jace raced past them, shouting a war cry as he brandished a large blade and disappeared into the fray. Meg threw her head back and laughed. 

“So was that it?”

“Not quite.” Alec said.

“Well then show me what you got.” 

Isabelle’s whip shot out of its revolution to catch Meg in the legs, tripping her up. Meg watched as her feet tangled in the deadly strand. She lifted one foot just as Alec rushed forward, dagger in hand. Meg stomped on Isabelle’s whip, pinning it beneath her boot. Before Isabelle could tug the whip out of Meg’s grasp, Jo and Ellen shot simultaneously, blowing holes throughout the demon’s borrowed body. Meg stumbled backwards, her grip on the whip slackening. Her look of rage strengthened as Alec crashed into her and pinned her in between his arms. He stabbed her in the shoulder, boring into her. She laughed again, her voice carrying over the screams of the other shadowhunters.

“Do that again.” She crooned at Alec.

She pulled him close and as soon as she did, Isabelle’s whip moved, almost of its own accord and to track with the human eye, but Meg wasn’t human, and she grabbed the whip again in one fluid motion. The demon pulled the whip to her and Isabelle stumbled, unable to control her violent motions that brought her straight to Meg in a matter of seconds. Isabelle collapsed against Meg, who spun the whip around Isabelle, and the gold of the wire strained against the shadowhunter’s flesh, keeping her bound next to Meg. Isabelle hissed in pain as the wire cut deeper and thin red lines appeared on her skin. Her mouth was made into a grim slash as a strand of wire cut into her lip.

With one hand, Meg managed to keep a tight grip for the whip while she gripped Isabelle by the waist. Alec held onto to Meg, his dagger still embedded in Meg’s shoulder and seemed unable to be moved by Alec’s strength. The demon laughed, its black eyes flashed as the Lightwood siblings struggled to get out of its grip. Meg was sandwiched between the two of them, but was in control. Jo and Ellen looked on warily as a dozen strands of wire wrapped around Isabelle’s neck. 

“Demon-“Isabelle rasped. 

“Yup. I’m the real thing.” Meg whispered.

Meg nuzzled Isabelle’s black hair, the strands catching the moonlight, glaring at them like magic next to the gleaming golden whip and the stars above. Meg leaned her head over to Alec, whispering something in his ear; he blinked rapidly as her breath made his eyelashes flutter in irritation. She suddenly poked her tongue out and let it hang out, running it down the side of Alec’s face. He flushed and shouted at her.

Jo began to incant Latin, and Meg choked as he head started to shake, lips vibrating. It looked like she was holding back from vomiting and Meg threw her head back. However, Meg started speaking. Her tongue bulged and curled around the black words. They were deep, as if scraped out from the bottom of a well. Meg’s lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing bright pink gums and gleaming teeth. Rasping an incantation, Meg’s hair fluttered against her cheeks. In a language that had probably been dead for centuries, crude, cruel, and ancient. The incantation warbled in her throat, vibrating like a fiery rocket engine warming up. Meg shook all over, teeth chattering as she continued and her eyes had a stained look to them. Her head snapped back forward with an audible click, her mouth now relaxed and pliant and she smiled.

“Sorry, guess you’re stuck with me.” 

“We’ll see.” Alec snarled. 

Meg grinned and then pursed her lips at Alec, who began to speak in Latin as he tried to drive the dagger in deeper. The blade was painful to her, her screams rioting off the walls and she managed to speak again as her Latin drowned out Alec’s incantations. There were shrieks in response to Meg’s voice. A dozen or so ancients began to converge to Meg, swarming around the hunters and the lightwoods. Isabelle’s eyes glimmered with fury as Meg backed up against the railing of the ship and having no choice but to follow. The ancients that surrounded them hooted and howled, screeched, and snarled and Meg nodded her head at them. 

Two things happened in rapid succession. A large ancient that resembled a monkey with webbed limbs leaped for the three of them, completely passing Ellen and Jo, even after the two women shot at the creature. Alec reacted faster than Isabelle was able to, and he let go of the knife, and simultaneously grabbed the wire from Meg’s grasp and shoved Isabelle away from Meg. Alec grunted from the effort, the other end of the whip wriggling in his grasp. Isabelle stumbled forward, still more or less tangled in her own whip. The whip loosened wetly from her neck, making a squelching cutting noise. Isabelle fell into a heap, blood spurting down her neck, deep cuts staining her whip. Her blood pooled on the deck and the harder she tried to breathe, the deeper the wounds on her neck became. Alec shouted in alarm as more ancients ran to Isabelle, mouths open with their dripping fangs and tusks. Alec shoved Meg before she could move, but Meg gripped Alec’s arm tight as she stumbled backwards and tumbled over the railing, taking Alec with her.   
______________________________________________________________________________

Sam lifted his knife higher and threw it in a wide arc, where it sailed forward and sank deep into the oozing flesh of an ancient. Its boneless body sunk to the ground, its zipper-like serrated teeth gnashing in pain as it was pinned to the deck by the large knife. Luke was half changed his face in a rictus of fang and fur. Huge, erect ears pushed past his hair, and his eyes flashed gold. It made a part of Sam shiver in revulsion, but he was just glad Luke was on their side. The older man’s hands’ nails extended into claws that slashed wickedly at the advancing ancients. Sam watched as Dean shot off a few rounds into an ancient. His heart pounded as one got too close to his brother, but was relieved when the creature eventually lay sprawled at Dean’s feet. 

Luke tossed a dagger to Sam, who nodded in thanks and brought the jagged blade down on in incoming ancient. Blood and brackish fluid spurted out over the wound. A sudden clanging noise made them both look up. Pair of Oni ancients was climbing up the side of the deck. The entrance to the lower decks was elevated on the outside; the heavy door leading to the stairway was corroded from the sprays of poison that came from other ancients. The stairs were stainless steel and the farther down, the more covered in shadows they were. Sam shouted for Dean, who was reloading at rapid speed. Dean raced to his brother and Luke, only to be blocked by an ancient that was resembled a komodo dragon with a rat’s teeth. It reared up on its hind legs and waved its scaly hands, which tapered into long clacking claws. It chased after Dean, whose’ aimed veered as he moved, and as the shot missed it, it lowered its head and revealed its spindly teeth and forked tongue. 

“Duck!” Luke snarled.

Dean’s eyes widened as he realized what Luke was about to do. He ducked a split second before Luke raised his arm and threw the knife. It whistled in the air above Dean’s head and it landed right between the colorless eyes of the ancient. It collapsed at Dean’s feet, and he shot off a few more rounds that thankfully hit a few ancients that screamed in pain at the sudden shots. Dean crouched down to the dead ancient and pulled the knife out of it in one swift motion. He was at Sam and Luke’s side in seconds. Dean nodded his thanks at Luke and gave him back the knife.

“Ok, Ellen is back on the other side, covering Jo, Alec, and Isabelle. Where is Valentine?” he asked.

“Probably down below deck.” Luke looked carefully at Dean. “It will be heavily guarded.” 

“I figured. Do you have any idea what’s guarding the sword?” Dean asked. 

Luke smiled grimly. “A higher demon I imagine. Valentine probably keeps the soul-sword on his person.”

“Cool.” Dean grimaced. “Hold down the fort?”

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can.” Luke said. 

“Wait-you’re not going alone.” Sam said.

Dean stared at Sam. “Yeah I am, I’ll feel better knowing somebody has my back up here.” 

“Dean…”

A loud screech broke their conversation and the three of them looked up. A dozen or so winged ancients swooped down on the other end of the deck, diving into a mass of shadowhunters. The screaming was fierce and was brought on by the flash of seraph blades. One shadowhunter was lifted clear off the ground before a loud crunching noise and the lower half of the shadowhunter collapsed onto the deck, becoming food as small ancients swarmed over it and began to devour it. Luke could have sworn he heard Maryse’s war cry. 

“Go.” Luke said. “We’ll take of this.”

“Dean-“ 

Luke grabbed Dean’s shoulder. “Trust us. Please.” 

Dean glared at Luke for a moment before turning his gaze to Sam. Looking his brother in the eye, he shifted his stance and crouched next to Sam. The two didn’t speak and Luke pulled back, warily watching the sky.

“Sam-” Dean began.

The clattering of hooves on the metal deck interrupted them. It was a skeleton riding atop a decaying horse, its rider brandishing a rusty double bladed ax. It raised its weapon, galloping towards them. Sam shoved Dean down the stairs, his brother just managing to grab the railing to keep himself from tumbling down into the stairwell. The skeleton ancient charged at Sam and Luke, its horse hearing and the hooves of the dead creature waving madly, nearly striking Sam with its metal shoes waggle. The blackened metal revealed the loose rusted nails that jutted out of the shoes and the horse plunged.

“SAM!” 

Dean ran back up to Sam and Luke. Sam grabbed his gun just as the horse was about to bludgeon him, Sam shot the horse in the center of its hoof, right below its shoe and lodging the bullet right in the tendersest part of the foot. The horse bellowed in pain staggering back on its hind legs and its rider’s skull clacked dangerously, nearly loosing balance. The horse tried to put its weight on the injured hoof, before bringing back up with a sharp whinny. The skeleton raised it ax yet again as the horse staggered back against the doorway to the lower decks, blocking Dean. The flanks of the horse smelled awful, briefly bumping into Dean before falling against the metal doorway, its thick skin scraping and falling away on the door’s hinges. This unbalanced the steed as it crashed into the door, its weight causing the door to slam back into its frame. This pushed Dean back as the door slammed in his face and the last thing he head was Sam shout his name. 

The horse bared its teeth as it leaned against the now shut door, struggling to stand as the skeleton clacked and whined. It kicked its heels into the bruised sides of its steed. Rushing forward, the horse’s block teeth sank into Luke’s leg. The man shouted, his pointed teeth gleamed brightly and he snarled viciously. When Luke took a swipe at the horse, his hand was larger and hairier than before, claws jagged and distended as they raked across the horse’s face and caught on one of its bloated eyes. The filmy eye popped like a grape, the horse jerking upwards as its head swung manically back and forth. Foam spewed out of its mouth, blood pouring from its ruined eye socket. Luke began to rush forward, snarling. The horse raised one forelock and struck it down onto Luke’s knee; the crack was gut wrenching but ultimately drowned out by Luke’s shouts of pain, which intensified when the horse collapsed on top of Luke. It whinnied pitifully as its rider untangled himself from its position and it began to climb over the horse to get to Luke, raising its ax and readying itself to plunge it into Luke’s skull. 

Luke was pinned underneath the still thrashing horse and he groaned from the added weight of the skeleton moving across the horse. Luke yelled as Sam shot the skeleton, the bullet lodging into the skeleton’s ribs, making it stumble backwards, its ax tumbling out of its knobby hands and bouncing and scraping against the horse before clattering onto the deck by Sam’s feet. Sam grabbed the ax just as Luke’s claws shot through the roof of the horse’s mouth and the skeleton began to reach for Luke. The horse slumped, finally dead and its tongue lolled in Luke’s face, having nowhere else to go as the top half of its face had blown off from Luke’s claws. Blood and chunks of flesh littered Luke with the remnants of the horse’s jaws. 

Sam pitched forward, ax raised high above his head and he brought it down, right down the center of the skeleton’s skull. With an alarming crack, the skull splintered right down the middle, the teeth of the skull exploding out in all directions stopping the skeleton in mid grin. Headless, the skeleton fell back on its knees before sliding forwards onto the deck. Its bones broke apart when it hit the metal of the deck clattering before disappearing. Panting, Sam crouched down beside Luke, and began pushing the horse. The horse was taking longer to disintegrate. Sam turned to Luke. 

“You ok down there?”

Luke grunted. “I think my leg is broken, I know my knee’s shot.”

“Ok then, hold still.” 

Sam threw his weight into it, pushing the horse away from Luke. Sam strained to move it, flexing his shoulders as the horse finally gave. It rolled sideways, its legs falling in on themselves as the horse rolled over on its back and onto its side, leaving a trail of dark slime as it did so. It fell with a thump, bits of flesh and globs of pus wobbled like jello when it hit the deck. It oozed blood and something inky black before disappearing.

Luke attempted to stand, but with a growl of pain, he slumped back down. With Sam’s help, he hobbled to one side of the door and slumped back down, his face pale and tight lines were visible. Wordlessly, Sam handed him the ax and slumped down himself. Luke watched Sam reload his gun. The two continued to stay silent as the shouts of battle rang across the deck.   
______________________________________________________________________________

Clary and Simon raced to one end of the deck, leaping away from the hordes of ancients that were in a frenzy to attack. Faces of other shadowhunters blurred around her, she thought she recognized some of them. However, there was a lone fighter in the center of a group of ancients and was one that Clary recognized by the rumpled trench coat that was billowing from the swift movements of its wearer. An ancient darted forward, aiming for the back.

“Cas behind you!” Clary shouted. 

Cas whirled around and slashed downwards with his blade, catching the ancient in mid leap. The creature shrieked in pain as the blade pierced right in the center of its body. It disappeared quickly, crumpling in on itself. More of the same ancient surrounded Cas. They were spiders, but their pincers were numerous, clinging on their spindly legs, beads of dark liquid gathering at the tips. From their eye sockets, there were fangs. A sudden jet of steaming liquid squirted out from one of the spider’s eyes. Cas veered to the side, the jet of liquid splattering his trench coat. It quickly burned a hole through the fabric with an angry hiss. Cas’s eyes narrowed, and when he spared Clary a glance, he nodded at her. Gripping his blade tight, he threw it like a javelin and impaled the spider ancient. It squealed briefly, pinned to the deck before shuddering into nonexistence. 

Clary and Simon moved into action. Clary’s stele in one hand and a dagger in the other and Simon snarled as one spider ancient leapt for him, and he dodged it. The two immediately were at Cas’s side. The spider ancients scuttled warily around the three of them. A large thump made the three of them look up. With a sick thudding in her stomach, Clary instantly recognized the new arrival as a Ravener. Its cluster of eyes that rested on the dome of its skull was wildly rolling around, and its many legs were agile. The Ravener was above them, on the flat edge of a metal hanging above them, which seemed to lead to an elevated entrance to a stairway, but Clary wasn’t sure. She concentrated on the Ravener’s movements; its limbs were thick and scaly, and numerous. Its mouth dropped open revealing its pointed teeth, and its black tongue, which licked the edges of its fangs, as if in anticipation. Drool hung out of its snout in long strings, taking a long time to drip down onto the deck and pool onto the ground. Its spiked tail whipped back and forth excitedly, like dog eagerly waiting for its food. It gurgled and Clary shuddered at the memory of its voice.

“So hungry.” It moaned. “…angel flesh is best…”

Clary was aware of Cas’s sharp reply, and felt more than saw him face the creature. Clary shuddered and a spider ancient skittered across the deck, zigzagging as did so and leapt high. Its pincers shone with venom, fangs erect as it dove for Simon’s face. Before he could react, Cas’s hand shot out, grabbing the spider midair. It squealed, legs waggling and its eyes swiveled in its sockets and spayed a jet of acid onto Cas’s hand. The angel winced, crushing the spider even as the acid burned his hand, angry welts rapidly forming and a sizzling accompanied the steam that was rising. Cas threw the spider into the crowd, bowling over the odd dozen that had encircled them. 

Chittering angrily, five spiders dashed forward and leapt for Simon. Without thinking, Clary stepped in front of him, throwing her arms wide open. The spiders screeched, managing to pull themselves back from fully leaping and they tumbled over themselves in their hurry to back away. Clary blinked, she tuned out Simon who was angrily shouting at her. There was a mild buzzing in her ears and a trembling in her gut. Something told her to look at her arm, and when she did the odd mark on her arm was plain as day, visible by the star’s light. Clary turned her forearm in the direction of the spiders, facing it forward and in their line of sight and she walked toward them. They hissed at her, backing away quickly and gave her a wide birth. One spider darted out of the way, and sped for Simon, but when Clary shoved herself in between them; it slunk back to the other spiders, hissing angrily. 

Clary turned to Simon. “Look-”

The Ravener dropped onto the deck with a thud, its legs tensing as it readied to spring. Cas planted himself in front of it as the spiders began to simultaneously spray their acid. Clary couldn’t leap in between either Simon or Cas, so she ducked and kept her stele firm in her hand as she brought her arms up to shield her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cas turn to her with wide eyes and start to speak as the Ravener tackled the angel. Clary jumped back, her feet suddenly slipping and giving out beneath her as she felt nothing but empty space behind her. She screamed, feeling her arms shoot out for balance and she could see Simon run towards her, his lips forming her name but that didn’t matter because she could see the metal of the deck bending and hissing where the spiders had sprayed their acid. Spiders were in the air, snapping their pincers as they rushed Simon, clinging to him like a coat, and he slipped on a still steaming patch of acid. He went down hard, the weight of his body made the deck beneath him bend even as he writhed from the burns that were forming on his body. 

She wanted to run to him, but her legs wouldn’t listen to her as they tried to get back onto solid ground, her foot scraped at the corroded metal, her balance still shaky as she tried to get out of the ever growing hole of the acid eaten deck. It was too large for her to cross as her legs miscalculated her steps and tangled themselves up. Her stomach jumped up to her throat and pushed back her screams as she fell back, her hands slippery with sweat, and she watched, unable to do anything as her vision tunneled, focusing on her stele, which flew out of her grasp. Clary fell through the hole, watching as her beloved stele cartwheeled in the air above her, backlit by the stars.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Alec felt the metal digging into his back and panicked. He sat up, ignoring the sudden pounding in his protesting body. A hand pushed him back down. It was gentle and warm. Alec’s eyes swam and he had to wait for his vision to clear. He was aware of his chest heaving up and down, and it took him a moment to realize that the shallow rasp was his breathing. Alec flushed and tried to get himself under control. Slowly sitting up, he coughed and was surprised by the way it made his head spin. Magnus was sitting across from him, looking as disheveled as Alec had ever seen him. The warlock was pale and shaking, and he was drenched, his black hair plastered to him. He looked as if he would pass out at any given moment. 

Alec eyed him carefully, meeting Magnus’s gold eyes and felt the familiar rippling in his gut, but this time his mind didn’t tell him to look away, nor did he feel the usual burn of shame as he met the other man’s eyes. Alec felt as though he could simply sit here and hold onto the moment, feeling oddly calm. The truck lurched from the rocking of the Hudson. Alec stiffened, remembering why a truck would be idling in a river. 

“What happened? I need you to heal me so I can get back on the ship. There’s a battle.” He said in a voice sharper than he intended.

Magnus sighed. “You’re welcome.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You fell overboard. I had to let the barrier down so I could get near you. When I pulled you back here, you weren’t breathing.” Magnus sounded weary. 

Alec squirmed. “Well…you didn’t have to do that.”

Alec felt vaguely upset when he said this, as it seemed inappropriate. A voice in his mind cautioned him and he was aware that he was being rude, but he couldn’t afford time for pleasantries while a battle raged only a few feet away from him. He also felt the sudden swell of anger at Magnus for making him feel as though he needed to make amendments to his code, to the law, to the need to rectify the situation he was being put in. This wasn’t fair. Magnus’s eyes flashed, and Alec could have sworn it was hurt that Magus felt before it flitted away to be replaced by anger.

“What do you want from me Alec?” 

Magnus sounded so old, which Alec disliked. The warlock had no right to be acting out of character at a time like this. Nor should he look so frayed, with his eyes fluttering so dangerously and so bruised looking. Magnus looked muted and bedraggled, devoid of the characteristics Alec was familiar with. It was more than Magnus’s appearance that stopped Alec in his tracks. It was the question itself. A voice told Alec to exercise caution. The question was making Alec feel dizzy with its weight. 

“I…” Alec choked. “Well…what do you want from me?” he asked. 

Magnus sagged a bit. “A little bit of acknowledgment. I do so many things for you and your friends, yet you don’t seem to know why.” There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. 

“Are you tired?” Alec asked.

“Yes.” 

Alec held out his hands, raising his palms for Magnus to take. Magnus’s eyes widened. Alec looked steadily back into them, feeling himself tremble at his own offering. A small art of his mind marveled at how quickly he offered, done without thought. He was glad that Magnus did not look away, but was hurt that he had to look so surprised. 

“Use my energy. That’s what you need to power the barrier right? I’ve heard of warlocks doing this before so-”

Magnus grabbed Alec’s hands, palm to palm and cutting off the rest of Alec’s words as the shadowhunter’s breath hitched. Alec was frightened by how at ease he felt when Magnus’s hands brushed his own, at the fact that he could only marvel at the fact that a powerful warlock was pulling out his energy and he felt no fear or resentment for it. Alec could no longer look at Magnus in the face, so his gaze rested on their hands. His own hands were smaller than Magnus’s and fitted there perfectly.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Dean squinted in the dark, the colt grasped in his hands in the tight reassurance of an old partner. His feet were solid as they slowly descended down the stairs. The sounds of the battle were muffled from the thick metal door, and he was pretty sure Sam hadn’t heard him pounding on it or his shouts. So he continued downwards, the chilly air making his breath cloud. He stopped, listening for movement as he fished a small flashlight out of his pocket. Clicking it on, a small, but powerful beam of light leaped to life and he raised it higher. 

The interior of the ship was very industrial. Catwalks that were supported by beams or hanging by chains competed for space with the ladders that led up or down to large doorways crafted out of thick metal, some had steel doors blocking entry. Dean peeked into the open spaces and saw nothing but cluttered machinery, which looked as if they haven’t been used in a long time. The antiseptic look of empty metal corridors that seemed to lead on forever or to another entry to a dead end was putting Dean on edge. He didn’t even know how far he went, it all looked the same. The only thing that clued him into the fact that there was life down here was the smell. The faint stench of iron made his lip curl. It wouldn’t matter how clean a place could be, Dean would always smell the blood. He went in the direction it was coming from and he slowed when he glimpsed shadow on the wall, his heart pounded. The farther he went in, the colder the air got, until his hair stood on end and he could feel his goose bumps through his jacket. 

His flashlight chased the shadows, casting erratic beams and at each one he jumped. Dean grimaced as his unease mounted to ridiculous levels. The cold was pressing his ribs together and he massaged his chest to loosen it and the deja’vu hit him in full force. He hadn’t been this scared since…

“Hello Dean.”

Dean spun around, raising the colt higher. He grunted in a pain as his chest thudded at the sight. Sam was standing before him in a pristine white suit. He was even carrying a rose with him, clutched loosely in his hand, his fingers gently massaging the petals. Dean gasped.

“Son of a bitch.” 

Dean watched the not Sam smile as he squinted his eyes and tried to raise the colt higher. It was hard to breathe and spots were starting to blot his vision. He growled, feeling the noise rumbled up and tear at his throat, hurting as if he had just drunk battery acid. His legs were beginning to shake, and he ignored the voice that was screaming at him to run, that this wasn’t what he thought it was. All the same, he struggled to speak.

“Lucifer.” He spat. 

It laughed. “You flatter me with the comparison.” Its eyes flashed angrily.

Dean laughed. “Don’t be. I bet you’re fugly in real life.” 

It looked amused. “I’m surprised. You’re a mundane and yet you think you’re a threat to me?” It laughed.

“I am.” Dean smirked. “So you must be…an ancient, the one guarding Valentine’s hidey hole.”

“How very astute of you.” 

“It’s been said before.” Dean tried to shrug.

“Of course, that won’t get you very far mundane. You’re running out of steam. You can’t win against the demon of fear. ”

At this, Dean swayed and hit the wall, gasping at the cold that slammed into his bones and caused him to shake all over. When he tried to stand up straight, sharp stabbing pains went into his chest like searing lightening that made him double over. Dean groaned when he found out that he was unable to straighten out. His eyes widened, he couldn’t get in a full lungful of air and his panting was getting shorter and faster. His hands were getting clammy; it was hard to grip the colt and the flashlight. The light was waving erratically, racing from one point to another like a demented spotlight. His mouth felt stuffed with pennies. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

Dean was surprised by the effort it took to speak. It left him dizzy and now he had to concentrate to hear what it was saying. When it moved closer to him, his lips pulled back, soundlessly snarling at the thing. His heart squeezed at their proximity. It smelled like carnage and when it smiled, Dean could have sworn he saw a mouth full of blood. There was no trace of sulfur, but it was too familiar and Dean struggled to move as his gasps became softer. The tiny voice in the back of his mind was urging him to leave. 

“And you’d be surprised how astute I am. For example, I know Lucifer will get his way. He is quite a determined fellow once you get to know him.”

It leaned down even further, Sam’s hair was brushing Dean’s ear. He shivered so hard, he thought his muscles might jump out of his skin. It was wearing his brother’s face and the coldness in the eyes was so jarring, Dean felt the sweat break out on his skin. 

“I also know Lucifer will be pleased when Sam Winchester will be brought to him like gift, and there won’t be a thing you can about it.”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Dean finally ground out.

“Oh?” 

Dean wanted to say ‘I won’t die by Satan’s whipping boy, you stupid little bitch’, or ‘damn straight asshole’, but his throat was clenching tight, making tight clicking noises instead. He dropped the flashlight, the light rolling away and finally hitting a wall, lighting it up and throwing up light at nothing, while Dean and the ancient were cast into shadow. Dean’s knees brought him lower to the ground and his arms shook, the colt suddenly weighing much more that it should. He used his other hand to hold up his gun arm, feeling sluggish as he did so, as though his bones had been replaced by rubber. His palm weakly clutching at his elbow, and he raised the gun higher. His trigger finger was turning purple. It was practically standing above him, smiling serenely down on him. Dean’s stomach churned, stirred up by rage as he struggled to move, but as the bile and the metallic feel of acid threatened to choke him, he was damned if he was going to puke in front of a monster.

Instead he raised the colt as high as he could, his arm screaming in protest and shaking so badly, he’d be lucky he’d hit his target. Dean didn’t have time to steady his hand. He could barely see and his lungs begged for air, his fingers’ spasms getting more violent. He willed all his muscles to obey him as he struggled to squeeze the trigger, frustration finally winning out as his finger pressed down on the trigger with all his might. The flash from the shot flared in his eyes and he could momentarily see the surprise on its face as the bullet embedded itself dead center in the forehead. 

The monster slumped down onto its knees, teetering for a moment before crashing facedown onto the metal floor. The crushing hold it had on Dean vanished and he gulped in air with huge heaving breaths. He shakily rose to his feet, head still muzzy and his vision still cloudy. Swaying, he looked down at it. At the sight of the crumpled and slowly vanishing creature, he snorted.

‘Some demon he was.’ He thought. 

“Yeah.” He rasped.

Dean’s throat convulsed and he coughed, bringing up a mouthful of blood. It made his whole body hurt and that was enough to make him crumple to the ground.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Simon crashed to the ground, the remaining spiders clinging to him, lessening the impact of his fall. They squealed in pain underneath him. The impact shook his whole body, making him feel as brittle as an old man. He had landed on his back and he can feel their pincers moving against his T-shirt and he shuddered in revulsion, springing up and ripping them off his body. Snarling at the final spider, which hissed at him before Simon lunged at it and cracked its body in his hands. Simon threw the dead demon on the ground, lip curling as the many legged monster. The smell of blood was overpowering and as much as Simon wanted to raise his hand to block out the smell, he stopped himself.

‘Knowing Valentine, following the smell is a surefire way to find him.’ He thought.

Simon raced out of the entryway, only to gape out the layout of the underbelly of the ship. Inhaling deeply, he caught the rusty stench of blood, and something else beneath it. Shrugging, Simon ran to it. He marveled at the speed his legs were taking him, the catwalk swinging beneath him and the chains that held them up jangled nastily, as if shouting slurs at him. Simon pumped his arms and swerved to grab a rung and he leapt off the catwalk to get to the ladder he wanted. For a split second, he felt like he was flying and then his hands gripped the rung tight. The catwalk swung behind him, swaying back and forth like a taunt. 

Simon began to climb up the ladder and hauled himself up and over the entryway. He found himself in a room crowded with machinery. He had no idea what it was for, except that it looked too dangerous for just one person to operate. Ugly pistons had suspicious stains gathering in their creases and one large funnel looking machine had its flat top covered with a large white sheet. Simon had no desire to take a peek under it. He hurried out of the room, turning into a corridor and the strong smell it him and it mingled with the odor of chemicals, something sharp and cold, and another spicier scent. It took Simon a moment to realize the blood was ingrained in the other scents, and those scents summed up the character of a person, for he now knew the scent of a human being was mixed up in there, along with a distinct smell that he was beginning to associate with shadowhunters. It was Valentine. Simon roared and shot forward, the bland halls a blur as he ran. Rage pumped his heart, inflated his lungs, and pushed through his blood vessels. 

He smelled Valentine before he saw him. The sight of the broad shouldered man caused Simon to see red. The color suddenly flashed into his vision, strong enough to stun, but Simon shook his head. His mouth was wide open, lips pulled back as far as they could go, and he felt his snarl rumble up from his throat and bellow out of his mouth like smog. Hatred was thrumming through his body, and he was energized by it. Valentine had stopped, staring at him with an expression of fond exasperation, or maybe amusement. It was a look far more condescending than even Jace could ever give. Simon could picture Maia slung over Valentine’s shoulder, the same self-satisfied expression on his face. 

“Bastard.” He rumbled. “You killed Maia.” 

Valentine tapped the scabbard sheathing Maellartach.

“What of it?”

Without a second thought, Simon bellowed, charging blindly forward as his feet launched him forward at his enemy.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Jace panted, unable to keep as silent as he would like. The underbelly of Valentine’s ship was vast, but it was already showing signs of wear. He had passed a section where acid from the deck had eaten through, a large corroded hole, and Jace had sidestepped the still dripping acid. He had seen demons, or rather ancients racing above him, their forms eluding the full scope of his vision. He dropped his gaze, scanning the interior for stray enemies. Something glittered in is peripheral vision. It was familiar, and Jace knew its shape to be a stele. He picked it up and was flooded with a sense of familiarity. 

“Clary.” He whispered. 

Jace quickly looked up, as if Clary would materialize in that very instance. He knew for a fact that Agramon was skulking about, along with who-knows-what-else. Jace sprinted forward, his feet remembering just as much as his mind the route to the room that kept Maia and Simon chained up. His feet flung themselves over obstacles that would cause grave injury if he miscalculated and hit one of them. Jace thought he understood fear from his time in the City of Bones, but he had underestimated the feeling. If he couldn’t find Clary, he’d never forgive himself. 

A loud clanging stops Jace in his tracks, and he sidestepped into a little alcove heavily bolted together, and he unsheathed his seraph blade as the sounds of many footsteps loudly passed by him. It drew his gaze upward as he realized that it was coming from above him. He recognized the steady, heavy tread as his father’s, and its rhythm meant that he was in a fight. Jace’s heart clenched and a sudden sick feeling had him reeling. It was a struggle just to remain upright and Jace will himself to be still. His seraph blade still held in his hand, he gripped it tight and whispered a name.

“Abrariel.”   
______________________________________________________________________________

Clary fell with a scream which cut off as she landed heavily onto something cold. The impact went through her, but wasn’t as bad as she thought it was. What she landed on was cold and still, but not the hard flat surface of metal. Shakily sitting up, she turned round to see that he knife had clattered to the other side of the room, but she remembered that she was not able to hang onto her stele. It was probably gone forever and Clary felt the loss keenly, that another piece of her mother had been ripped away from her. She choked back a sob. 

Pushing herself up, her hand pressed against a shoulder. Clary froze, and let her fingers slowly crawl over the surface she was still sitting on. She felt her fingers press into a collarbone, her body going cold. Clary’s fingers fumbled for a pulse. Finding none, she screamed, leaping off and racing to the other end of the room. Swallowing convulsively, some part of her demanded to see who it was. Blinking the sweat out of her eyes, she felt her neck crack as she turned. It was Maia. 

Clary felt the scream build up in her throat, knew it was rising up out from some deep part of herself, and it rattled in her mouth like so many jumbled pennies, but when the time came to release it, there was just a squeak. Maia’s body was pale, the veins still standing out despite being empty and her body was rigid. Her look of terror bored into Clary even though Maia’s wide open eyes stared at the ceiling. Her mouth was a wide slash, lips dried enough to freeze in mid snarl, and her nostrils were flared, little bits of crust gathering at the edges. The deep gash that went across her neck raised the two slices of flesh opposite of each other; the edges looked jagged, as if poorly cut, but the rest was a deep, clean slice. Clary wanted to believe them to be fake, like in the movies, the fake flesh they used for gory close ups of mutilated characters. 

The wound left the slash elevated skin that was turning grey already, despite the dried blood that still desperately clung to Maia’s body. Clary blinked. She could just picture that Maia would turn her head any second now, blink her eyes, close her mouth and lick her lips before grinning at Clary. The image was so strong that Clary felt a mounting terror for that to actually happen. There was a fierce knot growing in Clary’s stomach as her gaze was drawn to Maia’s dead eyes. The color was already muted, the whole of the eyes clouded over, the light was already gone. Clary wished so hard for Maia to blink that the knot in her stomach hardened up into her throat and she choked so hard that tears blurred her vision and her legs shook. 

The vomit shoved itself out of her, the force of it prying her mouth open without her consent. Clary was so surprised she didn’t even have time to protest as she buckled to the ground, her knees taking the brunt of the impact but that didn’t stop the rest of her body as she threw up all she had, tears pouring out of her eyes as vomit scorched her mouth and nose. When her body was finished, Clary only had enough strength to scoot away from the mess she made. She turned her head, allowing her gaze to shift on the knife she had dropped. Seeing it filled her with disgust, and she had the errant thought that Jace would scold her for carrying such a puny knife.

Clary took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She flexed her fingers, surprised at the pins and needles sensation that went through them as she picked up the knife and curled it into her hand. She felt light and insubstantial as she stood up and pushed her mind away from what was lying behind her as she wobbled out of the room and into a corridor. Clary’s eyes darted in their sockets of their own accord and she raised the knife higher. Her whole body trembled in anticipation of attack and the sudden wrench of steel far above her made her shout and race away, trying to see what made the noise. Whatever was happening up on the deck had made the whole ship tremble and Clary hurried forward as if sky would fall at any minute. 

She slowed to a walk, noticing a small ridge of steel that swelled away from the rest of the wall, and it seemed to lead to another corridor. Clary wondered if it led to the catwalk that was swaying above her. Something rustled in the alcove, and it was more out of instinct than sound that told her something living was just around the corner. Clary trembled as she raised her knife higher, briefly closing her eyes in preparation. She shifted her stance, tensing her body into silence as she twisted her body. Clary suddenly whirled, moving faster than she thought possible and bringing her knife plunging downwards. It whooshed in the air, as she felt the electric buzz of energy of another blade go past her, but suddenly pull up and hover by her face. 

“Clary?” 

Clary blinked, everything came back into focus and she saw Jace staring back at her, their weapons inches apart, even though Jace had pulled his weapon back and was lowering his arm. He peered into her face and slowly grabbed her arm. Clary flinched in shock, and she recoiled from Jace’s hurt but sympathetic expression. Jace pried the knife from her fingers and eyed it critically and turned to Clary.

“What did you think you were going to do with this?”

It was so close to what Clary pictured what he would say about her knife given the chance that she laughed. It filled her up, almost painfully as she burst with it, doubling over and when she looked at his surprised look, she collapsed into fresh giggles. It was so absurd, so out of place that it was somehow funny. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“I found Maia.” She blurted out.

Jace blanched. “How is that funny?”

Clary sobered instantly. “It isn’t…it’s just…I’ll explain it later.”

Jace nodded, and then began to speak. “Listen I-”

A sudden scream stopped them in their tracks, and Clary only just then realized that she and Jace had moved forward to each other, and she quickly stepped back another pace. Terror seized her; she’d recognize that voice from anywhere. 

“Simon.” She breathed. 

Jace looked at her sharply, and when she met his eyes again, she’d didn’t see surprise. Suspicion rose up in her against her will, and she clenched her fist hard to make it disappear. She recalled Simon’s words and resisted the idea to hit him, despite everything. Jace wordlessly handed back her knife, and Clary felt she owed it to Simon to look Jace in the eye. 

“Where?” she asked.

Jace frowned. “Sounded like it was in front of us, probably only a couple of hundred feet ahead.” 

Clary didn’t need to hear another word. She sprinted down the hall, Jace easily catching up to her, and Clary saw his seraph blade shining and she wished she had brought her own. She knew they were running back the way she came, and with a sinking feeling she knew which room they had to get to. 

“Simon!” she shouted.

She dashed into the room, and this time she did scream. Simon was lying on the ground in a messy sprawl, the gash on his throat and wrists fresh and sore. Clary’s knife clattered on the ground, it was the only sound she heard, her screams only intensifying when Jace grabbed a hold of her shoulders and murmured things in her ear, but she didn’t know what they were. Even Jace didn’t have enough strength to keep her from Simon, and Clary knelt down beside him. She felt the keening rise up in her chest, the familiar whine and thrum of agony resonating inside her. Slowly she felt her head sink down onto Simon’s chest as if she was pushing herself underwater.

Jace was kneeling across from her, his fingers about Simon’s neck and she was too tired to scream at him that it was too late for that, but his eyes widened and he looked up sharply at Clary.

“Clary.” 

When she didn’t reply, she felt Jace’s strong hands grab her shoulders and force her gaze to his. 

“Clary, he’s still alive. There is a pulse. Its faint, but it’s there. Clary Simon is alive.” 

“What?”

“Listen.”

Clary and Jace put their heads together, and Clary’s ear hovered over Simon’s mouth. Tiny warm air tickled her ear, the warmth vibrating into her eardrums. Now the faint rattle of inhalation could be heard. Clary’s head jerked up and she realized Jace had been waiting for her to move so he could continue.

“Vampires are a bit like cars, they run on blood the same way that oil is needed for a car to function. Clary, all he needs is blood.”

Before she could reply, Jace picked up his knife and slid the blade against his wrist. She couldn’t help the little gasp that came out of her as she saw Jace’s blood run parallel to the knife’s blade and slide down his forearm. Leaning over, Jace held his bleeding wrist over Simon’s mouth, letting it hover inches above Simon’s lips. Droplets of blood pattered over Simon’s lips, the only color on his face. There was no response, and Clary just barely stopped herself from screaming. 

“C’om on drink.” Jace urged.

Jace angrily pressed his wrist against Simon’s mouth, managing to pry open Simon’s unresponsive lips with just a quick jiggle of his wrist. Jace shook his wrist inside Simon’s mouth with a slight growl. Simon’s lips twitched and finally pursed. There was a tiny nicking sound of skin being scraped, and from Jace’s reflexive wince, Simon had just bit down on Jace’s wrist. Clary flinched from the gentle sucking and gulping sounds, but couldn’t tear her eyes away when Simon’s hands shakily rose up and felt for Jace’s arm. Jace made no protest as Simon gripped Jace’s arm and pressed it hard to his mouth. Simon’s eyelids fluttered as if he was merely in REM sleep, still too deep in dreamland to fully awaken. 

Clary watched transfixed as Simons expression began to get more fierce, eyebrows furrowing and a sudden grunt made her jump. Jace was watching the change with impassive eyes, and Clary flinched but didn’t look away when Jace leveled his gaze to hers. The gold of his eyes looked strangely mellow, almost protective, but she couldn’t understand why it made an earthquake in her body. Simon suddenly growled, moving as if in sleepwalk, his hands going up to Jace’s shoulders. Jace grunted, so Clary assumed Simon’s grip was strong.

Simon pulled himself away from Jace’s wrist, his eyes hanging at a sleepy half-mast. Clary suddenly flashed back to when she and Simon were little kids, back when they still had sleepovers and they’d wake up early for the Saturday morning cartoons, still rubbing their eyes even as they hurried to grab their bowls of cereal and hunt down the remote. It was the same sleepy stare that he now gave Jace. So that was why Clary shrieked in surprised when Simon sank his teeth into Jace’s neck. 

Clary darted forward, trying to pry them apart but she was pushed back by Simon’s arm as it shot forward, catching her in the stomach. Clary made a move to try again, but Jace Spoke to her, his voice strained. Clary winched at the Simon’s enthusiastic slurping noises. 

“No, it’s alright I-ahhh, just let him. It’s only his instincts-sarrrrgh.” Jace grunted. “It’s telling him to go for the major arteries….ohhhhhhh. Nnnnghhg, don’t try to stop him.” Jace groaned.

Jace stopped wincing and his eyes fluttered. He not only let Simon pin him in place, but even pulled Simon closer to him. Jace was starting to go slack, his skin becoming dangerously pale. Clary went against Jace’s advice and went to pry the two of them apart, but before she could do anything, Simon suddenly sprang back, flushed and wide eyed. He was panting, and Clary’s stomach rolled when she saw the blood still inside Simon’s mouth. The slash on Simon’s neck was healing right before her eyes, sewing itself back up, almost as if it never happened. His skin was returning to its normal color, and Clary was overjoyed, but the fury in Simon’s eyes refrained her from going to him. Simon glared at Jace. 

“I could have killed you.” Simon said.

Jace nodded. “I would have let you.”

“Maybe I should have.” 

Clary tensed as the two stared at each other, not speaking. Simon’s jaw was flexing as if he was indeed contemplating finishing what he started. She was rooted to the spot; both of them had already given up so much, most of it for her. Both of them caring for her in two separate ways, and she suddenly recalled why Simon spoke so carefully about trust, but between the three of them they made enough mistakes for it to not matter. Clary wondered not for the first time, which boy she was really in love with, and the answer became clear. Her heart was thudding with an odd painful joy. Both of them were alive and in her veins was the song of anger. Maia had to be avenged, but Jace’s eyes still had that hunted look. 

“Oh Jace, what were you thinking?” Clary asked.

Jace tore his eyes away from Simon to regard Clary. His eyes sparked. Clary was startled by the way they were going to back down, despite having a trace of desperation to them. Clary nodded to herself. He was becoming his old self again.

“I was thinking he is my father. I thought that would be enough. I was wrong.” He said in clear and quiet voice.

“You killed Maia.” Simon pointed out.

“I know and I’m sorry. I know now that I could never be alongside Valentine, and she paid the price for it.”

“So let’s put an end to this-that’ll be the only way for it to count for something.” Clary said. 

Clary watched as Jace and Simon stood up and the two of them extended their hands for her to take.   
______________________________________________________________________________

Shadowhunters were scattered over the deck, and the smell of gasoline soaked the air as a huge barrier of metal crashed onto deck, cracking open and spilling its contents everywhere. The breeze made the stench grow stronger.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Clary followed Jace farther down the hall, with Simon keeping pace behind her. Jace’s eyes narrowed and he lead them to what would have been a dead end if not for the ladder that led upwards. Jace climbed that ladder, peering up and scooted back down and nodded to Simon, who sprinted down the left side down the hall they came from. Clary could just make out Simon climbing up another ladder before he jumped onto a large pipe on the ceiling before he wriggled out of sight. 

Jace climbed back up the ladder and Clary hurriedly grabbed onto the rungs. She pulled herself up onto the floor. The smell was awful and it didn’t take her long to realize why. Four basins stood in the center of the room, filled to the brim with blood. The first two were already so dry that the colors were more of a rusty brown, with crust clinging to the rims of the basin. The third was already discolored, the brightness fading already as it stuck to the insides of the steel basin. Strange blooming spots dotted the surface, but Clary didn’t care to know what it was, and in the fourth basin was the freshest blood as well. Still a vivid red, there was a slight steam rising from it. Clary walked forward and but her hand hover over the surface and was surprised that it wasn’t giving off any heat.

“Clary.” 

She turned to look at Jace, who had gone pale. He pointed at the table that was behind them, bundles of stained white sheets lay together on the table, and one of them obviously covered something very long underneath it. Clary didn’t need Jace to tell her what this place was, she already knew. The basins were about as tall as she was, and she especially knew what was in the fourth basin. This was the room where Valentine performed the ritual, draining all the blood he ever needed. Clary walked to the benches behind the basins and with trembling fingers brushed the white sheets, flinching when she touched the spots of dried blood. The material felt course underneath her hands and taking a breath, Clary pulled the sheets back. She gasped. 

The soul sword Maellartach lay there, shining with subdued menace. Clary felt her eyes tugged to it, unable to look away. There was not a drop of blood anywhere on it. Clary slowly reached for it, her fingers grasping the hilt.

“That is not meant for you.”

Clary spun around to see Valentine standing before them. Jace seemed rooted to the spot, rapidly looking back and forth between Clary and Valentine. Valentine smiled as if this was a pleasant surprise. 

“Clarissa, I’ve been meaning to see more of you and here you are.”

“What?” 

“I feel as if I have neglected having a hand in your upbringing.”

“My upbringing’s fine no thanks to you.” She snapped. 

Valentine sighed. “Clarissa my one regret is that Jocelyn and I did not come to get to raise you in a way befit your people. If I am to blame for one thing it is that you never grew accustomed to your brother-“

Clary grabbed the sword, gripping the handle tight and struggled to lift it. She managed to heft it, leveling it in Valentine’s direction. The sword made her arms buzz and her head swim. Her ears began to ring and she could help feel a thrill of something familiar as the sword pulled her downward. Her body felt like had been plunged into ice water. Something vast was prickling at the edges of her vision. It was dark but lit up by brilliant points of light, the lines curving and broad. It was beautiful and Clary couldn’t see anymore, but the strange longing persisted. She blinked as spots swam in her vision briefly before her vision completely cleared. She pointed the sword at Valentine.

“Don’t talk to me about Jace.”

“I simply meant that there are certainly some things I should have foreseen since you have been raised apart, something that no sibling deserves.”

“You did me a favor by not raising me.” Clary snapped. “My mother was overjoyed that you were out of her life.”

“Clarissa… “ 

Valentine advanced. Jace moved at the same time, his hand moving for something. Clary felt a shiver of fear, the sword suddenly too heavy, and for the first time she felt uneasy holding it. Valentine was right-it wasn’t meant for her. She gritted her teeth; she wasn’t about to throw down a weapon at Valentine’s feet, so she tried to raise it higher.

“How did you even find us?” she asked.

“I am aware of everything that goes on in my ship.”

“Apparently not.” said Simon. 

Valentine didn’t even turn around as Simon stood behind him. Clary looked up to see the ventilation shaft right above where Simon was standing. Valentine didn’t appear to be fazed. He merely glanced back at Simon and then to Clary, his gaze considering.

“Hmm. Perhaps. Tell me, how is it that you are alive? I’ am quite certain I drained you of all your blood.” He asked. 

“Not certain enough father.” Jace spoke up.

Jace’s voice sounded tense, almost shaky, but he held up his wrist. It was heavily bruised an ugly purple, but in the center were two red and swollen puncture marks, and surrounding them a ring of teeth marks. It stood out against the pale gold of Jace’s skin. Valentine stared as if hypnotized at the sight. His jaw clenched and his eyes did not widen, but merely became colder, but was ghosted over and replaced by a serene calculation.

“My my I cannot fathom why I have such disrespectful children. If only things could go back to a much simpler time. “

With blinding speed, Valentine reached for the sword. With a scream she slashed it downwards, only to have Valentine grab the blade with his bare hand. A sliver of blood welled in his palm where the blade rested. With a sharp tug, it came out of Clary’s grasp and Valentine swung the sword around so that the hilt and pommel grazed her temple. Clary stumbled back from the blow, crashing into the table and causing the white sheets to settle on her and she shoved them off her frantically. The sword swung up in a high arc and as it began to fall, Valentine seemingly plucked it out of the air, catching it by the hilt and sweeping it in Simon’s direction. The point of the sword pricked Simon’s Adam’s apple. It only took moments for Valentine to take control of the situation. 

“Jonathan it is not too late to rectify this situation. Finish what I started with this revenant and all will be forgiven.” 

Clary tried to control her breathing-she had no weapon, but Valentine was leveling the most powerful weapon in the room at Simon, and all he had was his teeth, but he was looking murderous enough to try them out. Jace raised his seraph blade, fixing it at Simon and as he shifted his weight he pulled a knife out of his boot. Clary recognized it as the one she had been using. He must have picked it up after she dropped it. This blade he pointed at Valentine. Jace clenched his jaw tight and his eyes were bright and brittle. Neither Valentine nor Simon moved.

Clary stood straighter, trying to get closer but as soon as she did, Jace pointed the dagger at her. She froze and he bowed his head, a vein pulsing in his temple. Valentine stared at Jace, his expression inscrutable. Clary hung on for the next words, trembling. Jace looked up, his eyes seemed to burn. He looked at Simon first with hard eyes, but when his gaze swiveled to her it all changed. It was a look full of confidence and affection. Its warmth was directed fully on her and Clary shivered. When Jace turned to regard his father, the affection was still there, but marred with wariness and disappointment. In one deft move, Jace pulled back the hand holding the dagger and held it high, waving it briefly to let them see what he was doing and dropped it to the floor.

Jace gave Valentine a sad smile. “Oh Father.” His smile dropped. “His name is Simon.” 

Jace’s hand blurred, fingers curling and then shooting out. Clary watched him toss whatever it was to her and her hands opened up almost of their own free will, the slim object falling into her hands. Clary fingered the clear glass. She didn’t know why or how Jace had gotten a hold of her stele, but she didn’t care. She knew what she had to do. Clary didn’t bother watching as both Simon and Jace tackled Valentine, who swung the sword at them. 

Clary rushed past them, ignoring the struggling that ensued. Clary didn’t stop running until she was across the room and slamming her palms onto the steel of the wall. Clary was sure, her hand steady as she pushed the tip of her stele the steel hull. Clary tuned all sounds out, leaving only a buzzing sound that hummed throughout her body so strongly, like standing too close to an electric fence. The tip of her stele burned an intense white and she put in all her emotions. They roiled up in her, tumbling too fast and intense that she couldn’t name them all as they poured out of her as though lightning was rippling out of her like her body was a conductor. Her head was beginning to ache, but beneath that she could hear a small voice in her mind urging her on. It could have been her own, her mother’s, or perhaps someone else entirely. 

Clary’s hands danced over the metal surface, burning the word deep onto the hull. The movements making her arm ache, her whole body shaking and she felt the heat rise up inside. Her mouth opened and threw back her head. It was all coursing through her and going into her hand and flowing into her stele and writing the oldest language there had ever been. She chanted the word ‘open’ over and over again. She was writing so fast it felt like someone had taken control of her arm and sped it over the metal. 

The metal burned underneath the stele, melting and charring at the edges. 

‘Good. Let this place burn.’

On the last piece of the word, she pressed the tip of the stele so hard that she thought it would weld itself onto the surface of the hull. With one last burst of power that flowed out of her, the hum went along with it, leaving her mind reeling but clear. As it emptied out of her, Clary was almost sad to see it go. She felt herself sway, light and odd. She turned to the three of them, now aware that they were all staring at her. Valentine was looking at her with a look of elated horror. His smile blew into something satisfied even as the wariness in his eyes became more pronounced as it morphed even further into a wide smile that looked almost Jace like, and it took her a moment to realized that it was an expression Jace wore whenever he felt self-deprecating, but Valentine looked as though he were about to laugh. 

Simon exhaled loudly, but his voice was soft when he finally spoke.   
“What does it say?” he asked.

“Open.” Clary said.

At her words, a keening noise began to echo in the room. A tinny pop was heard and something fell onto the floor. As if rendered immobile, the three men stared at what rolled at their feet. It stopped at Jace’s boot, and he bent down to pick it up. He turned over the tiny screw in his hands. Multiple popping noises made them look up, spell bound. Suddenly, screws began to fly out from all directions and they ducked as the screws hit the metal, clanging angrily. The bulkheads groaned and were accompanied by the sound of hissing water. 

The room began to shudder as if it was being compressed too tightly. The metal crumpled, as if giant was punching a tin can. Simon yelled in alarm as Jace dived for the sword. Valentine swatted Jace easily aside, scooping up the sword and sheathing it.

“We have to get out of here!” Simon shouted. 

“It is too late for that.” Valentine said his voice oddly triumphant. 

At his words, one of the large punched in sections burst, water pouring into the room. It flowed steadily in, the room beginning to tilt. The basins were overturning, the remaining blood spilling out of them. Cold seeped into her knees and Clary tilted as the whole room began to move, more water punching into the hull, the sound deeper than thunder. Beyond it, Clary could hear the cracking of pipes and the resulting spray. The booming crunch of pillars were being uprooted and the acerbic swinging of chains being pulled out of their bearings, followed by the collapsing catwalks but Clary couldn’t see any farther. She was being pulled to the ever widening hole, the cold air pulling her in and tumbling over on her heels and over her head. Simon jostled into her, rolling helplessly beside her. She felt him to try to make a grab for her, and Clary only had time to pocket her stele before her fingers missed his jacket by inches. The hole loomed forward, the suction leaving her helpless. Clary saw the curling edges of the blown metal, looking as weak as paper. She caught an edge, holding on for dear life. Clary tried to shout, but only succeeded in swallowing water. The water splashed into her eyes, and the last thing she clearly saw was Jace reaching for her as her fingers slipped and she tumbled out in open water.

______________________________________________________________________________  
The cold struck her like a blow as the water seared her lungs. Clary thrashed, trying to escape the pull that was taking her farther away from the surface. The water tugged her in any direction it chose, moving her like a fish on a hook. Her eyes fluttered, stinging from the water that pressed into her eyeballs and blurred her vision. Her ribcage crushed her body, boxed in from the weight of the water intent on destroying her. She clamped her lips shut, trying to blow the water out of her nose, making her head spin from the constant exhaling. Bubbles rose up to the surface; she could see their journey to the top.

The surface of the water skated over her vision, the stars peeking out and gently fading out. The voice in her mind screamed at her sluggish limbs to move faster. Her head was beginning to pound, and she swiveled as her line of sight was drawn to a sudden brightness below the churning waves. It took her a moment to realize it was fire. It was plunging into the water, taking a long time to extinguish. Smoke surrounded her and one piece of fire crashed beside her, the force of it creating a small wave that pushed her back. Clary could still feel the heat from the distance, burning her with the heat the water briefly absorbed. Smoke surrounded her, bubbles brushing against her face. 

Her hands pushed the smoke out of her way, and her legs kicked feebly as more falling pieces of fire surrounded her. Clary could just barely make out a large shadow in front of her. Something was on the surface of the water and something told her to swim for it. The current was buffeting her away from it, but Clary struggled, her limbs spastically tugging outwards of the current. Another ball of flame slammed into the water, close enough that the force of its impact rocketed Clary onto a wave, pushing her upwards and her hands treaded to the surface. She could make out images on the surface, swirling up to meet her. The remaining fire behind her lit up a figure above the surface and Clary could see the long hair cascading down it, slim arms opening up. Clary kicked harder, feeling the chill of the air on her hands before much warmer slim hands grabbed her hard and pulled. 

Clary’s head broke the surface of the water. Taking huge gulps of air, she felt multiple hands pulling her up and when her knees hit rigid metal, she shivered all over. Her teeth hurt from their violent chattering and she swayed wiping her eyes. She was in Luke’s truck bed and she was not alone. The first person who pulled her up was a woman with silver hair. Next to her was Cas, and next to him were Sam and Dean. Luke was beside Sam, and across from them Isabelle was in the middle of Alec and Jace. Magnus and Simon sat in the middle; both of them had their backs resting against the cab. Ellen and Jo were in the front, with Ellen behind the wheel and Jo slumped in the passenger seat.

Clary noticed that only Sam seemed unhurt. Alec was pressing Luke’s shirt into Isabelle’s neck. Sam was turned to Luke, his hands pressed on Luke’s leg and from the grimace on Luke’s face it was agonizing. Dean looked exhausted, his eyes moving back and forth from Sam to Cas, who was cradling his burned hand. Jace was badly bruised and his attention was on Isabelle. Magnus looked even more exhausted than Dean, and he focused on Alec, who seemed just as bruised as Jace. When Clary’s eyes finally met Simon’s she smiled. He didn’t seem too badly hurt and he smiled readily back to her. 

Clary scooted closer to him, passing the silver haired woman who touched her shoulder as Clary moved to Simon’s side. She put her head on his shoulder, finally letting herself feel relief. Simon put his arm around her. His steady breathing told her it was going to be alright. A sudden blaze of fire plummeted into the water, crashing close enough to create waves and upend the truck. Clary felt another jolt of movement as Ellen put the truck into gear, but Clary wasn’t paying attention to that. She looked out to the ship and the skyline. 

The ship was blown halfway to pieces, the top half destroyed. Fire raged on the deck, illuminating the wreckage it was causing. Minor explosions caused fiery chucks of debris to soar into the air and land in the water or smolder on the decks of other ships. The smoke was thick and greasy, the smell of oil permeating the air. The smoke was blotting out the pink sky and Clary could no longer see the stars. The sky was lit up, the fire looking brighter, and small shafts of light pierced the smoke. Clary squinted as the sky grew paler, the colors of orange, pink, and gold as the sun began to rise.

Clary heard Simon’s sharp intake of breath and she turned around to see him blanch. She slowly took in his horrified expression and then swiveled back to see the sun beginning to peek out over the horizon. Clary screamed.

“The sun!” 

Jace glanced sharply at Clary and Simon. Magnus leaned over and rapped sharply on the window of the cab and spoke quickly to Ellen, who pushed on the gas. However the weight of so many people in the truck bed slowed it down. Jo opened the back window with a wince. 

“What does he need?” she asked. 

“Something to block the sun.” Clary replied. 

Sam shrugged off his jacket and gestured to Cas to take off his trench coat. Jo pulled a blanket out of the cab. Jace stared at Clary and shook his head.

“That won’t work. He needs to be inside a building.”

“We just have to drive faster than!” Clary cried. 

“The pedal’s practically touching the floor.” Ellen called. 

“Cover him anyway.” Jo added. 

The beginnings of sunlight started to break the smoke apart, the light was coming in fast. Jo shouted in alarm as Simon raised his arms and Clary shifted on top of Simon to cover him. Clary glared at the sky, not caring that she was hurting her eyes. She jumped when she felt Simon’s hands on her shoulders. Simon turned Clary to face him. Simon’s fingers massaged Clary’s shoulders, brushing up to her collarbone, and worked his way up to her face. His hands were cool and firm, making Clary shiver under his touch. She couldn’t help but gasp, her teeth chattering. His dark eyes locked onto her and she found it impossible to look away. Clary knew this was his way of saying goodbye. 

“No.”

“Clary listen.”

“Simon-”

“No really, it’ll be alright.” Simon smiled. “I’m ok with it.”

“But I’m not!” Clary shouted.

Simon pulled Clary close enough so that their foreheads touched. Clary blinked away the blurriness that was in her eyes and felt the hot trail slide down her face. Her heart was being pulled out of her, leaving a messy trail in her throat. The chill of the air burned in her lungs and crackled around her ribs like electricity. Simon’s hands felt like the only real thing, keeping her from ripped apart. Except what would happen if he stopped holding her in place? Every part of her howled to keep him in the world, anchored in place beside her. She choked, unable to let out the strangling feeling and wrapped her arms around Simon. She felt his breath on her face, cool and fragrant with a sweet spiciness that was distinctly Simon. She breathed in, trembling with the knowledge that this was the last time she would feel it on her face, see his lips form the words, hear him talk. 

“Clary, I love you.”

Clary inhaled so sharply, she almost whined. She could feel something vital being ripped out of her she wished it was something else that she wanted out of her. She nodded frantically, and instead of the words she wanted to say, something else came out in its place.

“Please don’t-this isn’t over.”

Simon continued. “And I always will and I’ll never stop.”

“Simon.”

When she said his name, it felt like a benediction and a goodbye all at once. The sun was at her back, its warmth boring into her back, threatening to drill a hole into her spine. If sunlight had a sound, it was the heavy chime of a grandfather clock. The sunlight broke into fragments on her back, shooting past her and hitting Simon. The light illuminated every strand of hair, blanketing her skin, and lit up his eyes. There was no way of stopping the sun. Clary moaned, screwing her eyes tight, not willing to watch Simon incinerate before her eyes. She jumped when she heard Simon inhale sharply.

“Clary.” He breathed. 

She squinted, not wanting to see a charred Simon, but her eyes flew open. She stared. Simon was whole and intact with not a mark on him. Simon held up his hands, letting the sunlight him them and they stayed the same as they were before with nothing to mar them. Simon flexed his fingers and waved his hand, staring at them in awe before looking back at Clary with an incredulous smile. He took a shaking breath, his smile morphing into something gentler. Clary felt something inside her break and relief flooded through her, a much warmer river than the one she was floating on. Clary finally cried out, the sound indefinable, as it contained all the sounds a human being could make. She tightened her grip on Simon, wrapping her arms further around him and pressed him to her. Clary felt his arms go around her, sure and steady. His face buried in the crook of her neck, and she loved the weight of him beside her. Clary just lowered her eyes to see Simon’s back, far broader than she remembered it to be and she vowed that she would pay attention to every little detail from now on. She’d always watch Simon, protect him, and look at him. Clary’s focal point narrowed down to Simon and she just held him closer. She didn’t care about anything but him, not even the sunrise that was probably the most beautiful she’d ever see. 

______________________________________________________________________________  
TBC….


	6. If they did not meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own either series; no profit gained what so ever.   
> Sorry, this was meant to come out on Saturday, so here it is today.   
> Word count: 12,550   
> Enjoy!

Clary walked to Simon’s house, her sneakers crunching over the pavement, she ignored the blaring sirens in the distance as she went past the news stand and crossed the street. The daylight made her eyes water in the crisp air. The pale sky seemed to threaten rain, but not even a breeze threatened the pedestrians going about their daily business. It had been a week since Valentine’s ship was destroyed. Since she had destroyed it. Clary trembled just thinking about it. The fire that had ravaged itself on the deck hadn’t been her doing, but the way the ship had come to pieces was. The sound of the rivets shooting out of their places and the water wresting control of the ship. The feeling of being swept away, limbs flailing and unable to get enough air as though she’d never breathe again, pulled deeper down. Her body was just a toy to a force much greater than herself. Clary felt the raw force slam into her, sliding above and below her as though she was a cell in the bloodstream of a powerful beast. Even though her lungs were seared and her eyes aching from the blurry sight of her half squinted eyes, she felt something. 

There was something that she only realized in retrospect. She had been left in awe, as the chunks of fire plummeted into the water, almost as if they had been ripped away from the sky itself. The brightness hurt to look at, lighting her vision all the way to her eyes sockets and she felt painful recognition and longing. Although she couldn’t put her finger on it and that was the frustrating part. As soon as a reasonable explanation came up, the feeling vanished. Almost like the fire doused in water, the smoke clouding her thoughts. That was a close as she could get to remembering. That following week was uneventful, yet strange for both the same reason. After the ship broke, Clary woke up the next day feeling so weak and dizzy that at first she thought she must have gotten sick from being in the water for so long. A visit from Magnus told her otherwise, as she had used too much of her abilities. Clary didn’t know that could happen and she ended up having to lie in bed a couple of days. Other than that, nothing much happened. Everything went back to normal, which was what made it so strange. 

There was no word of Valentine, it was so quiet. Nothing stirred in Downworld, not a thing. Luke didn’t say much, but Clary could sense his frustration and behind that, the frustration of the other Shadowhunters. Valentine loose was cause for alarm, with or without the soul-sword. Clary agreed with Luke when he had said that it was safer to assume that Valentine was alive and probably with the sword. Clary wrapped her arms around herself, her jacket unable to ward off this particular chill. Now that she was up and about the first thing she wanted to do was see Simon. She hadn’t gotten a chance all week, but now she eagerly walked over.   
As far as she knew, Simon had gone back to school but Clary hadn’t pressed for details. She smiled, she’d get them. Knocking on the familiar red door, she was greeted by Simon’s mom. Mrs. Lewis smiled when she saw Clary. 

“Oh hello Clary, it’s nice to see you again. Come on in.” She led Clary into the cluttered living room. “Simon told me you hadn’t been feeling well, so it’s nice to see you up and about.”

“Thanks Mrs. Lewis. It’s good to be up.”

Mrs. Lewis smiled again. “I bet. Simon’s just outside. I’ll bring you guys some lemonade here in a bit.”

“Thanks so much.” Clary grinned at Mrs. Lewis. 

Clary shut the back door behind her, careful not to slam it. The Lewis’ backyard was small, they were lucky to even have one but it was a cute one. An old trampoline was still in the back from the days when Clary and Simon were kids. It was how they passed many a summer day. There was a small flower bed from when Simon’s mom still tried to grow flowers, although now it was taken over by weeds. Occasionally she’d try to get Simon or his sister to pull them up, but it hardly worked. Now the weeds were dying like the rest of the greenery in the yard. Her shoes crunched over the leaves that were just beginning to fall, their colors paler than the reds and golds that still clung to the trees branches.   
Simon was in the center of the yard, lounging on a blue, plastic beach deck chair. He had it reclining as far as it could go. He was lying back, in full view of the sun. His eyes were closed, face smooth and youthful, illuminated by the sun’s glow. He looked so peaceful, but a sudden horrible jolt coursed through her when she realized that his face would always look youthful. Simon blinked, lifting his head. His eyes were half lidded from sunshine and sleep. He smiled, looking even younger by the sweetness of the cheer in his face. 

“Hey. I thought I heard you.”

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“I could hear you breathing.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

Clary sat down next Simon, the crisp grass crackled around her legs. She leaded back, the rungs of the beach chair digging into her back like an anchor. With her arms wrapped around her legs, she sighed as the sunlight warmed her skin and chased her chills away. Since Simon was this close to her, her pulse thrummed happily to know that he was alive. Nice and familiar to be back side by side in his backyard again. 

“No more creepy than Valentine’s disappearance.”

“Ugh. Do we have to talk about this?”

“Not really, but there is something I want to talk about with you.”

“Shoot.”

“I think it’d be a good idea if we didn’t see each other.”

Clary swiveled to face Simon, suddenly feeling sicker than she did last week. Cold all over and dizzy, she could feel the color drain from her face. She almost doubled over as though a boot had kicked in the stomach, almost to the point that she could throw up on the spot. She licked her lips, wondering if she could speak. Clary had trouble focusing and she had to trust her voice to do what her eyes couldn’t.

“What?” she squeaked. “Is it the fighting, because if you want I can make sure that you never have to fight again-”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what? I don’t blame you for not wanting to be with me, because I’ve done nothing but put you in danger and ruin your life-”

Simon’s cold hands clasped on her shoulders and she gasped. They never felt that way before, back when he was human. Back when he still had a life that wasn’t filled with bloodshed and crazy Shadowhunter plots. All that normal ripped away and all of it her fault. His grip tightened and the chills penetrated her bones. She looked him in the eyes, the bright light hurting her eyes. Even with the sun, his face couldn’t be obscured. The light lit up his hair catching in the strands of it and giving it a polish. His dark hair was mussed, giving him a sleepy halo. His face was a bit more angular it seemed, but then sometimes he’d turn his head and she thought that she imagined it. His newfound beauty seemed like an illusion, or maybe she was just in denial. Every time she looked at him, he’d turn and she’d see a new angle of him. It was like trying to catch water. His skin was paler, the faint tracing of veins snaking into sight. It somehow didn’t detract his appearance. It was only by looking into Simon’s eyes that Clary could read anything. They were so lustrous and dark, as though they never ended and they flashed in the sunlight, revealing the hidden shades that gave them the deep coffee brown and burnt bark of a tree in winter. Clary blinked because it was hard to concentrate when Simon stared at her so intently, a sad smile on his full, plump lips. The rest of his expression seemed aghast. 

“I didn’t mean that I want to stop being your friend. Just that I think we shouldn’t date anymore.”

Relief so profound, she actually staggered when the sick feeling left and became flooded with a sad kind of understanding. Simon continued. 

“I mean I’m glad we tried an’ all, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

Clary felt defensive, agitated on their behalf. “Why not?” 

Simon rubbed her shoulders. “Probably because there is someone else you love.”

Clary tensed. “I love you.”

“But not in that way.” Simon said.

“I could. I want to.” 

Clary scooted forward as Simon gave her a rueful smile. Suddenly, he seemed taller, older, and maybe a bit wiser. Clary tilted her head, trying to pinpoint when it was that Simon had grown up without her. It made her realize she was saying goodbye to the old Simon and that this was the end of something between them. So Clary wondered when it would happen to her, if she could catch up to him, so she leaned forward, pressing her lips to Simon’s. They were lush and cool, open with surprise. She pressed firmly, happy to for the soft response of flesh touching flesh. This would always be comforting, easy. Maybe it was because they would always be a part of each other. Simon gently pushed Clary back, smile still sad. 

“We’ve been down this road before. I don’t want to go down it again.” 

“Is it because of Jace?” 

“Only a little.”

“It’s wrong.”

“It’s not like you planned on it, it’s just something that happened.”

“It shouldn’t have.”

“You should stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault and neither is what has happened to me.” 

Clary blinked, her mouth opening slightly. Simon grinned in response. Clary knew that it meant that he knew he took her off guard with his insight. Clary nodded to him in reassurance. They were good. Simon suddenly stood up, looking very pleased with himself. Clary looked up at him, tilting her head. 

“It’s not fair that you’re so grown up now.” she teased. 

“You’ve got plenty of time to catch up.” he grinned.

It was like the sunlight pushed back the clouds and somehow froze this moment in time with its beams. Almost as if this were just another day, but everything had changed and yet it was as if the moment itself was telling Clary that it was alright. She could feel a small part of her mind preserve this moment, with such a bittersweet joy that it made her breath hitch. Yet…Clary smiled, she didn’t want to lose this feeling ever again and she wanted to feel every bit of joy that could be gleaned. So she willed herself to laugh and was at ease when Simon joined her. Everything would be alright. Simon tilted his head to regard her, the sunlight dancing in his eyes as they reflected more than just light. 

“Now that you’re all cheered up, I better get going.”

“Get going?” 

“Yeah, I told Jo I’d help her and her mom look for their car.”

“Tell them I said hi.”

Clary watched Simon heave himself off his makeshift lounge and stride across the lawn and into the house. She studied the broadness of his shoulders, wondering just when it was that they started to move with purpose.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Beth Israel Hospital was a clean, efficient place and its halls becoming much too familiar path for Clary’s feet. The nurses were becoming recognizable on a first name basis and Clary knew which vending machines had the better stuff, what was the best time to visit the cafeteria, Most of the time she went with Luke, since it seemed he didn’t want to go by himself any more than she did. 

Clary walked past ICU and gave a small wave to the nurses at their station. Going up the stairs and past the various departments, and the elevator that could at any moment, erupt with emergency activity. Once, Clary had caught a glimpse of the ER in a heated flurry of doctors, nurses, and victims from some horrific accident and was grateful to be led away by Luke. Now, the elevator was silent and Clary went over to the quiet niche where Jocelyn’s room was. It was a small and unassuming little corner by the emergency fire escape, with this floor’s nurse’s station down the hall on the left hand side. This was where patients who weren’t leaving any time soon were placed. 

Despite this, it was busy-a hospital is never truly idle so Clary was used to hearing the hustle of the staff and their patients. There was a hush, like a weary sigh that went through the halls undetected by everyone but her. Clary was suddenly nervous. Luke had gone ahead of her and Clary now felt the childish desire to run after him, but she curbed it and willed herself to calm down. 

There, like magic, was a woman with silver hair. Clary saw the woman’s face float back into memory, like a dream, like ripples from water. She recognized this woman; she had been in the truck with her when the ship blew up. The world seemed to pass them by as a nurse in pale pink scrubs. Would the world end up passing Jocelyn by too? Suddenly, Clary didn’t want to be afraid anymore and she strode up to the silver haired woman. The woman was young, at odds with the color of her hair; her eyes were wide and solemn. She was as slim as Jocelyn, but seemed somehow more real, more substantial than what Clary would have thought. Maybe it was because only Clary could see her, could connect with her when the rest of the world did not see her. Clary’s footsteps echoed too loudly for her ears as though they shouted out her-her life was about to change. Her feet dragged her to her destination, a path that she could not identify and had no hope of finding out. Clary’s head spun so fast that the feeling left her reeling, squinting heavily.   
Clary’s eyes blinked open and the harsh buzz of light seared her eyes, making her head spin. Nausea welled up within her and she felt too weak to stay up, the rubbing of her clothes on her back felt abrasive enough to give her chills. She took a steadying breath and the nausea subsided, letting her eyes crack open. Her eyes watered as she tried to stay rooted to the ground and she let the colors seep back into her vision. The noise of the hospital surrounded her as the daily current of patients, doctors, nurses, and visitors streamed through. The P.A. trilled, but Clary didn’t bother listening. 

Luke had gone on ahead only Clary was there to protect herself. Clary stared at the silver haired woman. Clary rubbed her forearm, somehow believing that she wouldn’t have anything to fear. Clary willed the sick feeling to pass, focusing on the silver haired woman. She knew this had something to do with her mother. The woman went unnoticed by the rest of the bustle of the hospital and that proved she was glamoured to be unseen by mundanes. A man wearing scrubs walked right passed them without comment and Clary glared at the woman. 

“I’m not in the mood for this. Who are you?”

Clary ignored the rest of her surroundings, pinpointing her stare to the woman, picturing her nailed in place by it. She seemed unperturbed by the glare, just saddened.

“My name is Madeleine and I know your mother.”

“Okay…? Well you know that she’s in a coma right?” Clary snapped. 

“Not quite” Madeleine stated. “Her state has been artificially induced by a spell.”

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying Jocelyn put herself in this state.”

Clary lurched forward, grabbing Madeleine by the arms, hard enough to bruise. Madeleine didn’t seem fazed and stared back at Clary. Her gaze was still piercing, but somehow soft. Maybe that was why Clary relaxed her grip. There was something about the expression Madeleine made that held Clary back, kept her from shouting at the older woman. When another nurse walked by, Clary felt oddly sick. How could anyone stand to glamour themselves just because they didn’t want to be seen? An odd thought flashed through her-would the world pass her by, leaving her to just watch as people would stare past her and hurrying on with their lives. Intellectually, Clary knew people would do that regardless of whether or not they could physically see her or not, but either way-the perceived rejection hurt. 

“Let’s do this in private.” 

“Oh…alright then.”

Clary strode forward and then had to bite back the irritated sigh at Madeleine’s speed; the woman caught up easily to Clary’s stride. Clary scowled. She had no real idea where she wanted to go, but it seemed Madeleine did. She made a beeline for Jocelyn’s room, finding it as easily as Clary had. Clary was relieved that Luke was not in the room. 

‘Must have gone to get more coffee.’ Clary thought.

Either way she was glad Luke wasn’t here. This felt private for some reason, and she couldn’t bring herself to break that kind of spell. Madeleine turned to look at Jocelyn as Clary shut the door, but she didn’t miss the look the older woman gave to her mother. It was the equivalent of a too full cup and Clary almost felt bad for seeing it but it was what clinched it for Clary. This was the moment when she decided that she would trust Madeleine no matter what. She watched Madeleine sit down, her chair close to Jocelyn, but her sights were set on Clary. Her hands were resting in her lap, and Clary let herself get mesmerized by the scars crisscrossing along Madeleine’s palms and wrists.

She was sitting firmly, with squared shoulders and her lips were closed. Clary stayed silent, feeling the hairs on her neck stand up. Licking her lips, she could have sworn she tasted copper. Clary carefully sat herself down and waited for Madeleine to speak. She swallowed once before speaking. 

“I first met your mother when we were both children, before we went for schooling. We lived so close to each other that we could see each other every day and we spent as much time in each other’s houses, almost more than our own homes. We shared everything. So it seemed only natural that we would train together as well. Of course, this held true for Lucien Greymark as well. There was a time when the three of us were inseparable. Despite everything, we were brought together in a way that no one ever had managed to replicate in our lives. Jocelyn came from a prestigious family, Lucien an undistinguished one and I from the middle ground of a plain but clever family. When we began our schooling, Jocelyn attracted a great deal of attention, but she never once left us behind.”

She paused for breath, and Clary scooted her chair closer. Madeleine continued.

“Then he came along. Valentine.” Madeleine frowned. “He wasn’t quite the way you would see him as now…but there was something about him. He was charismatic; able to speak to you on a personal level…he had some kind of pull to him, so that you wanted to follow him. Even so, I never trusted him, not because of that-there were many people who had leadership material. There was something about his eyes that upset me.”

Clary nodded her head rapidly, but Madeleine was still speaking.

“Either way, my thoughts on the matter didn’t, well matter. Valentine had a following. Although at the time, his power had no political ties. He was a school-yard king and the classmates he gathered to him were a motley crew. Robert Lightwood, who was afraid of get marked, Maryse Trueblood whose brother had left the Clave to marry a mundane. Hodge Starkweather who was disliked by the majority of our classmates, and Lucien began to adore Valentine, and it seemed that it was reciprocated. It seemed that the whole school was enamored of him. All but Jocelyn and I. Valentine was interested in her even then, but Jocelyn was unimpressed. She had teased Lucien and the others for their admiration of Valentine. It was only after the death of Valentine’s father that Jocelyn began to see him in a different light.”

Madeleine continued. “It was how the two became close as our school days drew to a close. The two were constantly in each other’s presence so no one was shocked when they announced that they would be married. Hearty congratulations were offered up, except from me. There was something about that man’s eyes that unnerved me; his smile seemed too false even when he sounded sincere…” she trailed off, as if unsure how to continue. 

“So basically it was a gut feeling…?” she could understand that, but…”One thing I don’t get is why?” Clary struggled to elaborate. “From I’ve heard, everybody trusted Valentine, looked up to him-”

“Yes. By the time Valentine had graduated, he was already rising into the ranks of the Clave, but-” Madeleine interrupted herself. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. It was at school that Valentine had established his Circle; he had already voiced his ambitions to them. He had wanted to change the world.”

Clary snorted. 

“Yes. As strange as that may seem to you, the best of intentions were in mind. Our intentions of course, but intentions are never enough. Valentine was making waves so to speak.”

“How?” Clary asked.

“By the way he wanted to change the Clave. To abolished the old-fashioned laws and even allow us to walk among mundanes. In those days, Downworlders were hardly ever mentioned. It seemed so reasonable…so right for so many.” Madeleine sighed. 

“I guess I should ask how something that didn’t sound bad could turn out so wrong. How Valentine could have turned out so wrong, but honestly I don’t really care.” Clary said. 

Madeleine shrugged in reply, in a way that made Clary think that Madeleine was of the same belief, but her eyes clouded. Clary peered into the woman’s face, trying to pick apart the reason for Madeleine’s wet eyes. The woman stared back at her calmly, but Clary didn’t feel an ounce of shame. So Clary nodded her head and Madeleine continued.

“Either way, when we all graduated Valentine became a member of the Clave easily, rising into the ranks around the same time that he married your mother and Lucien and Valentine were parabatai. I was the only one who had my doubts about Valentine and when Jocelyn told me of her intentions to be his wife, I told her of my doubts. She rebuffed me and it had been quite some time when we next spoke.”

Clary had a feeling that Madeleine had glossed over the details, but she waited for Madeleine to finish speaking. The silver haired woman looked overcome with her story, as though it was spilling out of her.

“Some time later, Lucien had told me that Jocelyn was pregnant. It was the last conversation I had with him. It was only until much later that I heard of what had become of him and his condition. I tried to find Lucien after the Uprising, but I was unable to. So much had happened. It was only after the Uprising that Valentine’s depravity was fully realized. It seems that ever since, a pall has been cast over Shadowhunters.”

Clary sensed that the story wasn’t fully finished yet, but she was curious. “So since Valentine was so…revered before everyone figured out his true colors, how was it that you figured it out before everyone else?” she asked.

“I’m not sure how to explain it. Perhaps it was my upbringing, but I had always been more comfortable in the presence of Downworlders than most Shadowhunters. As I had said before that Valentine’s followers were the ones on the fringe of society. I was one such person. Valentine had once tried to ‘collect’ me for his followers. He spoke to me as if I were an equal…yet whenever he spoke of a downworlder-I couldn’t fathom the look in his eyes. Too cold and somehow…gleeful. Or rather that isn’t the right word for it, but there was something in him that didn’t stop, that always strived at the expense of others. Valentine and I spent some time in each other’s company; I had introduced him to Ragnor Fell, a warlock who had been a family friend to both Jocelyn’s family and mine. I trust Ragnor’s judgment of character and when he told me of his thoughts on Valentine, it only increased my foreboding. I stayed clear of Valentine ever since.”

“Ok…but what about Mom?”

“It was after Lucien had been reported as dead, after the birth of Jonathan, and before the Uprising that Jocelyn visited Ragnor Fell. It was only by happenstance that I was there, visiting Ragnor. It was on that day that we spoke to each other again and she confessed to me, what she had told Lucien. That she was afraid of her husband and afraid for her child. I had sensed that there was something that she wasn’t telling, but I didn’t press the matter. She seemed to know something of great importance. At the time I had no idea that she was referring to the Uprising, but Ragnor was the one who seemed to sense her meaning better than I.”

Madeleine took a shaky breath. “Jocelyn was determined to stop her husband and should she and her son would be in danger. Ragnor sat the two of us down and the three of us began to plan. Ragnor had given her a spell, the very one that put her in this state. It was done in the event that Valentine should ever find her, she would be unable to yield to him. The spell itself is found in a book-a warlock tome called The Book of White. It is where the reversal of the spell can be found. Yet, Jocelyn is the only one who knows where the book is.”

Clary sucked in a breath. “So-you don’t?”

“Afraid not. Both Jocelyn and Ragnor thought it best to keep its location hidden and secret.” 

“But if mom is in a coma-” Clary cut herself off before continuing. “Even still…is it possible to meet Ragnor?”

“I’m not sure that’s wise…”

“Please?!” Clary’s voice became ragged. “I have to save my mother!” 

Madeleine was silent, wide eyed and pale. At least her hands moved as she bowed her head, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders and concealing her face. Her shoulders were rigid, but Clary couldn’t bring herself to reach out to touch the other woman. Clary felt herself dangling on the proverbial cliff as Madeleine held the decision in her hand. For a moment that felt like an eon, and when Madeleine finally looked up, Clary released a breath. 

“…Alright. I am planning to leave for Idris tomorrow-”

“Perfect! I’ll meet you here tomorrow!”  
__________________________________________________________________  
The kitchen was noisy with the clattering of pots and pans. The smell of boiling meat and vegetables made the air steam as the countertop was littered with various bits of cookery. Jace watched as Isabelle bustled about the kitchen, fixing something that Jace didn’t really want to care to find out. Isabelle’s attempts at cooking were the only sounds in the kitchen. Jace looked at Alec, who was sitting opposite him. The air felt heavy and Jace’s shirt clung to him and the silence settled into his lungs. Jace didn’t meet the blue gaze of Alec, whose sharp eyes pierced Jace’s insides. Jace clenched his fists and breathed through his nose. His shoulders flexed as if bracing for a fight, but it took Jace a few moments to look at Alec in the face. The look in Alec’s eyes was wide with icy sorrow. It was almost inscrutable-because Jace was supposed to know every expression, every facet of Alec and the fact that there was something in Alec’s face that he didn’t recognize put him in such a strange state of agitation that he knew that he had to rectify the situation. Immediately.

“Something you need to say?” Jace asked.

Alec flushed, his gaze softening before he glanced down. He took a breath and squaring his shoulders before looking up and back at Jace. The gaze was clear and bright. The agony etched onto Alec’s face made the angles of his face stand out against an unusual bone like complexions. Jace knew the look came from Alec feeling the need to speak his mind despite everything. Jace flinched; he was the cause of that anguished look. 

“Yes.” Alec said. “About the ship…about Valentine.”

Isabelle slammed the pot she was holding onto the counter, making a crack onto the countertop. The soup that was inside it splashed out, the hot drops prickling on Isabelle’s hands, but she didn’t even flinch. Instead she glared at Alec with a mixture astonishment and indignation. Her eyes shimmered suspiciously under the bright lights, almost looking too bright and wet to be believed. 

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, how could you even think that?! Jace is our brother and he would-”

Jace held up a hand, cutting Isabelle off mid-sentence. Isabelle ‘s mouth open and closed for a few minutes before she swore violently and slammed a few more pans onto the stove, which hissed in protest at the harsh treatment. It made Alec flinch but he continued to stare at Jace. 

“That night, you never made clear what your answer to Valentine was. You never said.”

“I know.”

“I...I know that the Inquisitor had made some mistakes, that the situation didn’t call for her behavior. I’m not defending her by any means, but what you did, or didn’t do is your choice. I need to know.” 

Alec’s fists were shaking and clenched so tight that he was drawing blood. There was nothing else about him to give away his distress. Isabelle was watching them; she didn’t look like she was breathing, her hands still holding a tomato as if she were afraid to drop it. She had become alarmingly pale. Jace could feel something inside of him crackle, as though in a response to a coming storm. There was a violent, wrenching agony inside him that intensified whenever he looked Alec in the eye. He knew that whatever answer he gave would change things forever and he had a sudden mental image of himself dangling on a cliff. Wild hope warred with horrific anxiety. It suddenly hurt to breathe, as those his lungs were caught in an iron vice, taunting him, daring him to spew out his insides alongside his hope. Suddenly he knew he had to tell them the truth. So he did. 

When he finished, the silence was deadly. Jace stared at Alec: he could sense more than see Isabelle staring at him; he could only imagine what her expression was. He swallowed as he stared at Alec. Alec was staring at him as if he had never seen him before, his face bleached of all color. He was swallowing convulsively, almost as if he was going to be sick. The blue eyes Jace knew so well were glassy with disbelief and something else he couldn’t quite identify. Alec’s expression passed slowly over his face, ghosting through his eyes and Jace never knew a fear like this before, making every other adversary seem meaningless. He didn’t know how long it would take Alec to speak. For once, he didn’t know what his parabatai was going to do. Jace gathered himself, trying to speak. 

“Alec.”

Alec held up his hand, his mouth trembling. “You…” he said.

“I know.” Jace said. “I know-” 

“Do you?” Alec cut in, his voice soft and odd.

Jace gritted his teeth and forced his arms to move. He vaguely noted that they were trembling. He reached for Alec. As soon as his fingers brushed Alec’s shoulder, the other boy stood up so quickly that his chair clattered onto the ground, the sound echoing with harsh reprimand. Jace retraced his hand as quickly as if it had been burned. He had great difficulty in exhaling, as though he had just finished running a marathon. Alec swiftly turned his head away at the sound. 

“Please.”

The sound of Alec’s voice reverberated in Jace’s head the second after Alec spoke. The sound was deadly to his ears, so shaky but roiling as if there were too many emotions to be contained within one word, flaying the vocal cords on the way up through the throat, since the heart had already been shredded. Alec was breathing as heavily as Jace, his eyes wide and nostrils flared. Jace made a sound in his throat that wasn’t a word, but just noises that only formed from the language of pain. Jace forced himself to keep looking at Alec, unbearable as it was, he would never forgive himself if he looked away. Alec blinked rapidly, biting his lip so hard it bled and he looked on the verge of saying more, but then the moment past.

Without warning, Isabelle hurled the still hot frying pan at Alec. He barely had time to duck, let alone make a protest. Both boys stared at her in shock. Isabelle’s eyes were darker than before, droplets of tears beginning to spill out of her eyes. She gasped out her next words, rage making her voice slur.

“You are parabatai; you shouldn’t be acting like this. What’s wrong with you?!” she shouted. “Alec…” her voice wobbled. “ How could you?” 

“Me?” Alec wasn’t looking at Isabelle. He wasn’t referring to her when he next spoke. “How could you?” 

Alec seized the chair he upended and lifted it high above his head with such force that Jace’s hair fluttered. Alec was trembling all over and Jace braced himself. The kitchen door opened. 

“What’s happening?”

Isabelle jumped, setting down the rolling pin that Jace hadn’t noticed her holding. The youngest Lightwood, Max stood in the doorway, confusion magnetized by his child-like round face and glasses. He looked anxiously about his three siblings, eyes big with distress. The tension in the air kept him from getting too close. Max looked up at Alec and slowly Alec set the chair down. 

“Everything’s ok Max.” Isabelle said. 

Max looked doubtful, but nodded all the same. He turned to Jace.

“Mom wants to see you in the study.”

“Alright thanks Max.” 

Alec strode out of the room before anyone could stop him. Jace stared at the stop where Alec had stood. Jace sighed, and then moved out of the kitchen, ruffling Max’s hair as he did so. Behind him he could have sworn he heard Isabelle mutter:

“Idiots.”   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary watched the pews growing smaller from behind the mesh of the elevator’s diamond patterned gates. The movement of the ascending elevator was making her giddy. There was a surefire way to wake her mother up and the plans were already swirling in her mind. Images wildly congregated in her vision, crowding for space as she saw her mother whole and happy in her mind’s eye. Clary smiled as the next image of her embracing Jocelyn. 

The elevator clanged to a halt, causing Clary to feel the vibrations begin in her toes before shuddering to the tops of her skull, creating a buzz of energy about her being. The elevator stopped and she reached for the gates, when they were yanked open and Clary found herself staring straight at Jace. Her breath hitched. His gold eyes were fierce and unguarded, face pale, the circles under his eyes looking like bruises. His lips stood out in color, looking plump and tight, and only opening when he saw Clary. 

Jace managed to look even more unguarded at the sight of her. A brief look of something flashed in his eyes, a small twinge of pain before getting smoothed over into a blank slate of politeness. Clary felt a rumbling in her gut, the deep feeling of uneasiness that was threaded with pain. Heat flooded her body as his gold eyes raked over her with the kind of expression that made girls shiver. Clary felt ashamed to be one of those girls, her mind flashing back to the night with the Faerie Queen…and Clary had to quickly shove the beast back in the cage. Even though it made her heart thud, like poison coursing through her veins that she’d want to keep swimming inside her despite how wrong it was. 

Clary licked her lips, willing herself to get back on track. Jace gave her a smile and she was encouraged, but it was Jace who spoke first. 

“Well speak of the devil.” 

“That’s not very flattering.”

“Well you have appeared.” Jace eyed her. “Although I imagine it’s not to tempt me.” His sarcasm was enough to cut glass. 

Clary bit back a gasp with her teeth; his voice didn’t give away how he really felt. She shuddered as another memory shot through her, of the ship, with Simon and herself beside Jace, and his voice piercing through her thoughts. 

‘I was thinking he was my father.’ 

Jace’s wearied look of anguish was still fresh in her mind. For that, she couldn’t blame him for trying to find something worthwhile in his father. The same way he was looking now, but his lips cocked in such a way that she couldn’t help but dislike. If she could taste the expression she knew it’d be a bitter taste. Clary shivered at the thought. Jace’s expression smoothed into something a bit more friendly. 

“I was only joking.” He said. 

“I know. I know.” She said too quickly. “Look I know…well there’s something I’d like to say-”

“So do I.” Jace interrupted. “I just want to say that.” Jace looked too uncomfortable. 

“Jace…”

“Just let me get this out.” Jace said. “These past couple of weeks I’ve been…an ass.”

Clary shrugged; she really couldn’t disagree but she spoke up all the same. “Yeah, but after all that’s happened.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Still. I pushed myself onto you, when it was clear that you didn’t want that. I was just too pigheaded to listen.” 

Jace gestured for Clary to come closer and move into the foyer. Clary’s boots echoed over the marble, making her teeth chatter. It felt like this was the first time she stepped foot in the institute, exciting but nerve wracking. Jace moved closer, as if he was going to remove her jacket. He put his hands on her shoulders his hands warming her body in a way she wasn’t ready for. 

“I’m gonna give you what you want.”

Clary’s breath hitched.

Jace continued. “I know you want me…as family. So I’ll just be your brother from now on.” He smiled expectantly at her. “Better late than never right?”   
Clary gasped, clenching her fists and plastered a smile on her face. She nodded her head rapidly, willing her vision to clear as she felt her eyes becoming moist. Unable to muster up a vocal response, she smiled wider and was rewarded with a relieved but sad expression. Clary couldn’t afford to decipher the expression. Clary fished for something to say, the silence stretching on until the clacking of heels on marble. 

Maryse entered the foyer, her heels ringing out against the floor like fanfare and Clary slid her eyes upward to take in the expensive looking navy blue power suit that was only a few shades darker than her eyes. Speaking of her eyes, they widened in surprise at the sight of Clary. 

“Clarissa? This is a surprise.” Her gaze became a bit cooler, more polite. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes actually. I came here to see you about something.”

Maryse’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“Um….yeah. I just learned something. A way to wake my mother up, but the thing is…it’s in Idris.” Clary looked Maryse in the eye. “I need to go there.” 

“Are you serious?” Jace asked. “You know that only Shadowhunters are permitted to enter, just bringing in a mundane is highly illegal.” 

The shock on his face was as severe as Clary had ever seen it; he didn’t even bother to disguise, but Maryse continued without even looking at Jace. 

Maryse cleared her throat. “Actually, the Clave will want to speak with you about the incident on Valentine’s ship. They will want to talk to you. I doubt they will allow a mundane to enter Idris otherwise.” 

Clary gritted her teeth.” I am a shadowhunter.”

“The Clave won’t see it that way. To them you are just a mundane.” Jace said. 

“At any rate, Clary will have to agree to see them before even going.” Maryse said. 

“Then I agree.” Clary quickly said.

“Well then.” Maryse nodded. “We leave tomorrow. We have a mandatory council to meeting to attend because of the incident with Valentine’s ship.” Maryse looked at Clary. “You may come with us if you wish. I assume you will inform Lucien of this?” 

“Yes of course.” 

Maryse gave her a curt nod. “Then I see no problem with this. Jace, I’d like to see you in the library when you’re ready.” 

Maryse turned on her heel and walked away without a backward glance. Her daughter had the exact same walk. Clary watched her walk, feeling Jace’s eyes on her, tearing her eyes away from her retreating figure. When she turned back to Jace, he was indeed staring at her. 

“Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she demanded. 

“Just let me handle it.’ Jace said. “I’ll go to Idris for you and get what you need.”

“No it has to be me.”

“Clary. Stop being so damn stubborn.” He snarled.

The desperation on his face was at odds with the hiss of his words, and he stared her down, eyes glassy and lips pulled back, but the image didn’t frighten her. Some deep part of her was being called up, willed forward by the voice clamoring in her mind, the voice that sounded like Jocelyn. 

“Are you insane?!” Jace snapped. “The only reason the Clave wants to talk to you is because of my fath-Valentine’s ship. If they find out how it was destroyed, you will become a lab rat to put it lightly, before turning you into their personalized weapon.”

“You make them sound…well you sound like Valentine.” 

Jace started and looked at her sharply. Clary winced, but pressed on. 

“So you’re saying you don’t trust them?” she asked slowly. 

Jace looked like he had trouble swallowing. “Valentine wasn’t entirely wrong on that count.” 

“I thought you said that you were wrong.” 

“Clary.” He said through gritted teeth. 

It was enough to give Clary pause and she sighed, her shoulders slumped as she waited for Jace’s eyes to soften, and the coolness of his expression was giving him a bit of a more a remote and somehow more angelic. He closed his eyes for a moment; the simple motion seemed to reveal his exhaustion. His lids were smooth and pale and Clary found herself staring at them, at the brief respite that was on his face. Even though respite was not the right word, he looked more stressed than before, if that was possible. It was the way that he looked so young that made Clary greedily drink in his countenance. After all, he wasn’t staring at her. She could look all she wanted. 

“I told them that the ship came apart on its own, because of all the oil on board and that the fighting certainly didn’t help it.” 

“You lied to the Clave?” 

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose. “What of it?” 

“I just.” Clary paused. “I just thought that, well it doesn’t matter I’m going.”

“Damn it Clary!”

“It’s my mother! My mother is dying! Don’t you understand that?! I don’t care if I have to go through a thousand Inquisitors to save her.” Jace opened his mouth again. “I don’t care how dangerous it’ll be. I’ll have you to help me.”

“Clary…”

“You will help me…right?” Clary’s voice wavered. “Jace…please.”

“…You can’t go.”

Clary made a sound. She wasn’t sure what it was, only that it came from some hidden depths of her gut. It hurt to come out of her mouth, but she swallowed the bile and tried to see straight. 

“Is this about me going to Idris or something else?” she choked out. 

He didn’t answer. 

Clary closed her eyes, trying to breathe deep and draw strength from it. She straightened herself out, exhaling through her nose, she opened her eyes. She met Jace’s golden eyes, shivering inwardly at the sight. 

“I’m doing this. Even if you can’t understand why.” Clary turned around. “I’ll see myself out.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Simon kicked a stray pebble and it skittered down the docks and fell into the water with a plunk. The warehouse district had been quiet for some time now, as the sun got higher in the sky, but the chill of the wind had not abated; he didn’t feel it, but he knew Jo and Ellen did, so he gave his coat to the younger woman. 

They had been at the docks and the surrounding area for hours, searching for the Harvelle’s car. A bumper had washed up on the shore, beneath the rickety dock, smelling strongly of brine. It was Simon who found that piece, and for an hour, he and Jo wandered beneath the docks to look for more salvable pieces. Their shoes had crunched over the debris of people, the beer bottles rolled over sand and gravel. The broken bottles and paper cups stuck up at odd angles, with food wrappers crowding around them. Trash of all shapes and sizes were collected underneath the docks, thrown down here as though it was a pedestrians’ personal black hole. 

Some of the workers had stopped to stare or call out to the three of them, but others didn’t even spare a glance at them. The workers thinned out as the trio combed the area, but no luck, no one had seen anything. There was no sign that there had been a car-or even evidence that there had been a major battle a week prior. Simon supposed the Clave had something to do with that. Now that the work day had ended and the three of them were still there.

“I think it’s time to give up the ghost.” Simon said. 

Jo turned to look at him. “Yeah I know.”

“So other than the fact that this was your only ride, is there any other reason for trying to find your car?”

“Truck” Jo corrected. “Well it is our only ride, but we could always get another I guess.” 

The two walked down a ways away from under the docks to walk back to the concrete. The way back was easy to get to, despite having no steps. Simon moved to the stone wall, hauling himself over it and reaching his hand out to Jo, who pulled herself up from the wall. The two then walked the length of the pier, moving towards Ellen, who waved them over. 

“Over here.” Ellen called.

Ellen had her arms full with bottles of coke and she handed them out as they reached her and the three sat down on a loading dock for the trucks that were driven there daily, bringing supplies for the factories. Their legs dangled over the edge, feet just barely skimming the dying weeds and stray, withered leaves. Ellen took a swig of her coke just as Jo was uncapping hers. Simon held his; the cool feel of the bottle was making him smile in a way that only Clary had been able to this past week. Simon was pretty sure they knew that he was unable to drink his coke, but Ellen bought him one anyway, smiled at him when she saw him shift it between the palms of his hands, and he knock the tip of his sneakers next to Jo’s, just like he used to with Clary when they were kids. Simon felt as if his heart would start to beat again.

“Well I think we’re just gonna have to give up on this one.” Ellen said.

“We were thinkin’ the same thing.” Jo replied. “We’ll just have to find another one.”

“Another one?” Simon asked. 

The two women glanced at each other before speaking. 

“Being a hunter isn’t the most reputable job out there.” Jo offered.

Simon nodded and for some reason he thought of Clary. He sighed, looking at the coke swirling in its plastic container. When he looked up again, both of them were staring at him. 

“What?”

“Thinking about Clary?” Jo asked. 

Simon gave a wistful laugh. “That obvious?”

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” Ellen said.

“Besides you love her right?” Jo asked. 

Simon looked down at his drink again, he knew he’d never be able to drink it again, not like Clary could-or any of his friends really, but he knew that someday he would still be standing when everyone else wouldn’t. He shuddered, pushing the thought deep below the surface. His feelings were clear, Simon knew that much and that Clary’s were clear to him, but maybe not to herself. Simon didn’t even want to think on what Jace’s feeling were, even though he knew Jace did love Clary. He didn’t like, but he could see it and Jace wouldn’t stop…or that Clary wouldn’t either and Simon was sure he wouldn’t stop either. He smiled to himself; all he knew is that somewhere, in the back of his mind, that that would never change…but everything else would. Simon supposed that would be just fine. He looked back up at Ellen and Jo, who looked back at him, he smiled to them in response but it was the sky that he answered as he brought his gaze upwards.

“Yeah I do.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
The light from the table lamp threw the wallpaper of the motel into a bright slightly garish tone. Sam only spared a glance at it as he stared at his laptop’s screen. Dean was laying on one the beds, flipping through channels. With just the two of them, if was oddly silent. The whole week had been quiet as well. Sam closed the lid on his computer and leaned back into his chair. He watched Dean instead. His brother was lying on his stomach, facing closer to the TV than he probably should, his hand loosely clutching the remote. Dean’s green eyes were glassy with boredom, and Sam couldn’t blame him, a sigh escaping his lips. Dean heard and tore his gaze away from the TV and rose in eyebrow at Sam. 

“Dude, there is nothing on.”

“Hmmm? Oh, no, that’s not it.” 

Dean held his gaze with Sam, knowing this was a conversation that needed to be had. Dean let go of the remote. 

“Not much else to do.” Dean grunted. “Unless you’ve got anything better to do.”

Maybe it was the edge in Dean’s voice that made Sam fixed his brother with a fierce glare. Dean gave Sam a look of bored indolence in response. 

“Yeah I do.” 

“Then let’s hear it.” Dean sat up. 

“We can talk to the shadowhunters-”

Dean snorted. 

“Really, I know they’re not our biggest fans but when you get right down to it-”

“Dude, you were there, when the werewolf told us what’s-er’-face threatened to kill us if we tried to ‘interfere’ with shadowhunter business.” 

“Look, I know it’s a longshot, but we gotta work with them on this.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I know, but how? They made it pretty damn clear they want us to hit the bricks.” 

Sam nodded and continued. “Just stick around I guess. Wait to see if Luke gets any leads.”

“What makes you think he’d be able to tell us?” Dean groused. “I tell ya, I’d rather hunt.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, that’d go over well with the shadowhunters. We’d probably need a permit or something.”

Dean smiled briefly. “Probably. Still, I hate all this sitting around.”

“Well there’s not much else to do.” Sam said. “Bobby’s got nothing; Cas is back on his god hunt-”

“And probably got nothing too.” Dean interrupted. 

“Luke has got nothing.” Sam continued. “No one has got any leads anywhere.”

“What makes you think he’d tell us anyway?” Dean asked. At Sam’s look of consternation he elaborated. “Seriously, what reason would he, would any of them have for trusting us, because it obviously isn’t a ship exploding or anything that important.” 

“I’m thinking he’s just as much an outsider as we are. He’ll keep us in the loop. We should stay in the city.”

“I’m in agreement with you there. What we need is more back up.”

As this, Dean began to sort through their weapons. He picked up a gun at random and began to fieldstrip it. The familiarity of it was welcome and there among the pile was the equally familiar colt. Sam strode over and picked it up and turned it over in his hands which Dean watched out of the corner of his eye, and his grip tightened on the muzzle of the sawed off. 

“Question is will they give it to us?” Sam asked. 

Dean recalled the shadowhunters skepticism at the colt and frowned. Sam’s grip tightened on the colt, although not in a distressing way, but Sam was frowning, lost in thought and Dean didn’t like the direction Sam’s eyes seemed to be going. It made him think too much of when Zachariah showed him the future, of the white suited ‘Sam’ pressing an immaculate shoe on his future self’s neck. He couldn’t dispel the image of Lucifer’s smile, the way his fingers curled around the rose in his palm. His brother’s lip brushing against the red petals as he quietly spoke to Dean. He could feel his pulse beat as a monster wore his brother’s face and in his mind’s eye he aim the colt into the center of the devil’s forehead.

“Dean?” 

Dean started. Sam was looking at him with a questioning look, and Dean wanted to snap back at him, but reined it in. 

“Yeah?”

“You ok?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, yeah just spaced out.” Dean cleared his throat. “You know, how about you just give me the colt?”

Sam looked at him in askance and Dean shifted a bit, trying to shrug. Sam’s look of confusion turned into reading, the look Dean knew meant he was getting analyzed and he tried not to scowl; he knew he was giving something away, he just didn’t know what because he honestly didn’t know what his expression looked like, but Sam seemed to realize what it was because his own expression went quickly from suspicion to something akin to accusation. 

“You don’t trust me with it?” he asked. 

“What? What make you say that? Sure I do.”

Dean knew the instant he said, that that he did not. However justified that was, it still didn’t make him feel better when he saw Sam’s face fall and then harden into weariness. Dean resisted the urge to put up his hands however much it sucked, he was in the right. They weren’t back to point where Sam could handle something like this; he just wasn’t sure how long Sam’s compliance with that would last. 

“Seriously?” Sam asked. “I know that I royally screwed up, but I can do at least this much.”

Dean set his jaw and held out his hand. “No.”

“Dean.”

“Sammy no. Just give me the gun.”

“Look this is my mistake and I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t fix it.”

“Not by yourself. We’re gonna-”

Sam cut him off. “We?” He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. “So how long I’m I gonna be on the bench? If this is your idea of teamwork, then this isn’t gonna work.” 

“What?” Dean shivered. “What are you saying?” he continued. “You we the one who wanted back in.”

“I still do, but you agreed to it.” 

Dean still held his hand out for the gun. Sam clenched it even tighter in his fist. 

“Exactly.” Dean said. “So just give me the gun Sammy.” He swallowed. “We both know that you can’t handle this.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it and the way Sam stared back at him, made his gut clench as though it was trying to digest knives. Dean opened his mouth and Sam turned his head away, squaring his shoulders. The soreness in Dean’s arm told him he was still holding it out. It looked so absurd just stuck out with nothing for it to hold onto. He slowly retracted it, wiping his mouth. This kind of reminded him of all the times he and Sam would argue over the remote of whatever crappy TV there happened to be, in whatever crappy motel they had been staying at. This was stupid.

“I didn’t mean…”

Sam turned back to Dean. “Yes you did.” 

Dean clenched his fist, hating the small part that agreed. Trust was going to be in short supply these days, and Sam hear that unspoken reply. Dean finally dragged his eyes back to Sam’s. The weariness, the almost acceptance at Dean’s words was startling and his guilt redoubled, as did his anger when he saw the stubbornness emerge in his brother’s eyes. 

“Just remember that you were the one who said we’d keep each other human.” 

Dean flinched, but didn’t back down. “What do you want from me?” he asked.

“A little trust would be nice.”

“I did and look where that got us” Dean snapped.

“I meant that I need to trust you.” Sam snapped back. 

“What?”

Sam sighed. “I mean that I need to trust that whenever I screw up-and I know I will-that you won’t…just hold it over me the rest of my life, because believe me I’m doing that just fine on my own.” 

Colt in hand, Sam then strode out the door, its slam echoing another and Dean knew that was his least favorite sound.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary stuffed her favorite red shirt into her suitcase. Books were strewn about the couch; she didn’t think she’d get around to reading any of them in Idris, she was too excited. Her smile grew bigger at the thought. Even if Jace didn’t want her to come…

“Do you really need that many clothes?” 

Clary turned to face Simon. “Hm?”

Simon smiled. “I said I’m not sure you need that many clothes. Aren’t you only going for a couple of days?” 

“Well a girl can never have too many clothes.” She teased.

Simon rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Riiiight.” 

“Seriously.” Clary said. “I don’t really know what I should bring. What if they don’t let me wear pants?” 

“C’ome on, they can’t be that old fashioned.” Simon replied. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

Simon and Clary turned to see Luke standing in the doorway holding a large package in his arms. He set it down before tossing his keys onto the table and shrugging off his coat. Luke smiled as he shut the door and strode over to Simon and Clary. 

“Hey.” Clary smiled as Luke bent down to kiss the top of her head. 

“I got you something.”

“I could tell.” Clary grinned. “Can I open it now?” 

“Of course.”

Luke handed the huge package over to her. The box was cool from the outdoors, its wrapping glossy and thick, but Clary had a couple guesses as to what it might be. The huge bow meant that it had been giftwrapped and she tugged on the huge green ribbon, it slowly unraveled and Clary rubbed the satin-y fabric between her fingers as more and more of it began to fall in her lap. 

“C’ome on Fray rip it!” Simon cheered. 

Clary laughed. “Shut up.”

“Go on, give it a tear.” Luke prodded.

Clary rolled her eyes. “Boys.” 

She began to heartily tear into the wrapping paper, exaggerating the strength of the tearing as she flung scraps of the glossy paper over her shoulder as Simon cheered her on. When the final shred of paper fluttered around her, the box revealed itself to be one from a store that she had seen a couple of times, but the logo wasn’t entirely familiar to her. The thick, loopy letters of the store’s name seemed familiar, but Clary didn’t remember ever shopping there. All the same, she felt giddy as she lifted the lid. 

“Look Simon, fancy oooooooh-”

Her teasing croon gave way to an actual gasp. In the box was a beautiful bottle green velvet cloak. 

“Oh Luke.” She gasped.

Clary wiped her hands on her jeans before lifting the cloak out of the box, as she held it up she heard Simon whistle. Clary wasn’t paying attention too much; her eyes were fixated on her present, she loved the way the shade of green was so deep and caught the light, giving it a subtle shimmer. It had a hood and a mantle, which had a simple clasp that took the shape of a leaf. Clary prodded it, and after a few moments of fiddling, realized that it also doubled as a broach. The leaf curved from stem to tip, the edges trimmed with gold and ended in delicate points. Clary peeked inside the hood, feeling the inside of the material. It was smooth, but she knew it could get warmed up quickly. It wasn’t fur lined; she wasn’t sure what material it was, just that it was meant to be comfortable and practical. She reluctantly tore her eyes away from it to Luke.

“I love it.” She breathed. “Thank you.”

Luke smiled warmly back. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Can I put it on?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Clary wrapped it around, maneuvering the clasp so that the mantle was set squarely on her shoulders. Clary looked down at herself. The cloak went all the way down to her ankles and Clary twirled, twisting around to get a better look. Laughing, Clary whirled around, seeing green trail around her out of the corner of her eye. Dizzy, she wound herself down to see look staring at her with a peculiar smile that was wistful and sad. 

“Your mother had a cloak just like that once.”

“Oh.”

Clary felt the sadness heavily, but it was it matched the expression on Luke’s face. She held the hood in her hands, nuzzling into it.

“Really?”

“Yes. She was quite fond of it.”

Clary felt the urge to ask whatever happened to it, but wanted see Luke with a happier smile, so she turned to Simon. He smiled back to her. His smile was wistful as well, but somehow less sad, just an old fondness. He nodded.

“It matches your eyes.”

Clary felt herself flush and she could see he had as well, but he held her gaze. For some reason that fact made her swell with pride. Simon and Luke were still looking at her, and Clary could feel her affection for them grow. Neither of them was particularly happy that she was going to Idris, but they didn’t say one word to her about it. Luke had given her a gift for her trip and Simon was helping her pack. Clary grinned so hard her jaw hurt.

“So you’re saying I’ll fit in with this?”

“Yes.”

“They’re really that formal?” Simon asked. 

Luke answered. “Yes. There are many rules and regulations for entering Idris just as many customs concerning them. Since you’ll be with the Lightwoods’, you won’t have to worry too much. Maryse will keep an eye on you.”

“Delightful.” Clary rolled her eyes.

Clary sat back down and put her cloak back into its box as Simon began to speak.

“So what I didn’t get is why they need to go to Idris for again.”

“Because of the ship getting destroyed, the Clave wants to hear it from them.”

“Ok, right because the Inquisitor can’t tell the Clave herself. I get that, but why do they want to speak with you?”

“Because I was there too.”

Clary eyes Simon carefully. He took the hint and didn’t press. He knew that she had made the rune that caused the ship to come apart. That was between herself, Simon and Jace. If Jace wanted to keep that a secret, then maybe it would be best to do the same…

“Not just the Lightwoods’ have been called to Idris.” Luke said. “All the shadowhunters have.”

Simon’s eyes widened. “All of them? I dunno how many of them are, but’s it gotta be a lot right?” he asked. 

Luke nodded. “Shadowhunters from all over the world are being summoned for this.”

“Just for a ship exploding?” 

“No for Valentine.” Luke replied. “His ship exploding has propelled the other shadowhunters into action, or well deciding what their next course of action would be.”   
“How long do you think that will take?” Clary asked. 

“Who knows.” Luke shrugged. 

“So you don’t know how long you’ll be staying?” Simon asked Clary.

“Exactly.” Clary nodded. 

The conversation dwindled to more mundane topics and Luke eventually announced that he was going to make some coffee and offered Simon the couch for the night. As Luke wandered into the kitchen, Simon grabbed a skirt from Clary’s haphazard pile of clothes and tossed it into her suitcase. Clary reached for the top that matched said skirt and Simon grabbed it for her and leaned forward and as she took it he whispered to her.

“So, you’re not gonna tell Luke why you really wanna go to Idris?” 

Clary shook her head. “He’d just worry.”

“Ok, I’m just not sure that it’s a good idea not to tell him, besides are you sure you can trust this Madeleine person?”

“Yes.”

Simon appeared to be thinking. He nodded slowly. “Ok then.”

He tossed her another blouse. She caught it and folded it. 

“So you staying the night?”

“Yeah I wanna see you off.”

“Kay.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
Jace stood over his bed, his bag halfway packed, but he didn’t particularly care. He felt dulled, unable to move. Though honestly, there wasn’t much to pack. He didn’t quite realize how bare his room really was. Normally if that thought ever entered his mind, he quickly dismissed it as unimportant and it wasn’t until he met Clary that he how others probably saw it. Not that he would have cared what others thought of it, but Clary was different. She was always…

A sharp rapping startled Jace out of his thoughts and there was another rapid fire knocking.

“Jace? May I come in?” 

It was Maryse.

“Sure.” He grunted.

She opened the door and Jace resumed packing. He spared her a glance. She looked far more tired than he remembered, but then again, Robert had been injured in the battle on the ship; another thing that was his fault. He scowled at his thoughts and Maryse sucked in a breath. He turned to look at her. She was watching his hands stuff his belongings into his bag with wide eyes. She opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say she seemed to think better of, but began to speak anyway.

“Isabelle told me what happened.”

Jace snorted. “Figures.” 

“I’m glad she did. I understand Alec’s concern.” 

“Again, figures.” 

Maryse flinched. “Trust goes both ways Jace.”

“Oh? Well I seemed to have forgotten that tiny fact.” Jace continued. “I suppose I could have saved a lot of time if I just read a motivational poster, perhaps I should-”

“Jace stop being ridiculous.” Maryse snapped. 

Normally that tone would have shut Jace up, but once he began to speak it was hard to stop. 

“What’s ridiculous is that you don’t blame me for Robert’s injuries. On top of that, the Clave will be cracking down on you, and you’ll surely be punished for the bad judgment of ever having taken me in, and oh that’s right-not to mention that I said yes to Valentine-” Jace barked out. “So if you don’t mind I think I’ll just leave. The Clave will find me guilty, and I can always be a hunter, better than having my marks stripped.”

Jace hefted his bag over his shoulder and turned to the door, only to have Maryse block his way. Her eyes burned bright and their resemblance to Alec’s brought a sharp clarity to him. Without him realizing it, Maryse lifted her hand and slapped him full across the face. Jace stumbled back; he was barely able to keep a hold of his bag. He lifted a hand to his cheek, the sting preventing him from pressing it too hard. He stared up at Maryse in shock; she had never hit him before, but that wasn’t what made him stare at her in astonishment. 

Her eyes were wet with tears.

“Don’t you dare say that.” She hissed. “I do not blame you one bit for Robert-or Alec. Did you honestly think that I would choose the Clave over my son? I’ve already learned the hard way that family comes first, and if you dare walk out that door, I will just drag you back inside.”

Jace stared back at her. “Don’t you understand-I chose Valentine! Even if it was for a moment, I still chose him.”

Maryse shut her eyes. When she opened them, her eyes were laden with sorrow. “Did you forget that I had chosen him as well? That I alongside so many others had once been in his circle that had caused so much destruction. You are not the first person he has seduced, nor will you be the last. We will simply have to carry on.” She shrugged. “If you want to blame someone for running to him, blame me. I did nothing to stop the Inquisitor; I should have let you know that I did not share her opinion of you.”

Jace swallowed hard. “Yeah that would have been nice.” 

Maryse inhaled sharply and replied. “Do you remember meeting us? Fresh from Idris and all you had was a single bag and your toy solider. That Alec and Isabelle were with me that day and when you and Alec decided to become parabatai? I knew, I knew from the moment that I saw you that I had another son and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Jace knew he wouldn’t forget her expression as long as he lived. Her eyes were blazing, never mind the tears, it just made her fiercer. She looked exhausted, as if she were running on pure adrenaline alone. Her hair was hastily pulled back, a few strands out of their confines and stuck to her skin. Her fluttering breath at odds with her fighting stance, but she blazed like a torch no matter how exhausted or vulnerable she looked. This was a rare side of her and Jace actually wished he got to see more of it for some reason and he wanted to be around when she showed this part of herself again. She didn’t show this to just anyone.

Jace exhaled shakily, the weight being lifted from him nearly made him tumble to the ground, but that could have just been from his bag as he let it drop to the floor. Maryse gave him a smile tight with too many emotions to name. Jace carefully sat down on his bed. The two were silent; Jace wasn’t sure for how long, but when he finally spoke he said:

“You’re right, trust is a two way street. With that in mind, could you do me a favor?”  
_______________________________________________________________________  
The alarm on Clary’s phone blared in her ears, jolting her out of dreams of things with wings and she sat up rubbing her eyes. She felt another body next to her, the soft snores making her blink in sleepy envy. She nudged Simon awake. He stretched like a cat, limbs lightly bumping into her. Clary staggered to the kitchen to see Luke already there, pouring her a cup of coffee. 

It didn’t take long for the three to get ready. Clary was brimming over with energy, unable to sit still the whole ride over. Luke parked across from the institute, and Clary hurried out, Simon and Luke in tow. She recalled Maryse’s instructions to go to the side where the garden was and meet Maryse and the rest of the lightwoods and Magnus would could create a portal and send them to Idris. She raced past the stone benches overgrown with vines, her duffle bag bumping into her thigh. 

The garden was empty. A breeze swept the dead leaves, scattering them at her feet. Clary checked her watch. Right on time and her anxiety increased; Maryse had insisted she be there on time. Clary stared blindly at the scene, her cell phone clutched in her hand, her knuckles pale in their tight grip. It didn’t stop her from looking up when she heard Luke and Simon approach. They stood on opposite sides, but she heard their voices from a great distance. 

“I checked inside, but there wasn’t anyone there.” Luke said. 

“Clary-” Simon said.

Clary sat down on the stone bench, yesterday repeating itself in her mind, until one thing stood out: Jace did not want her to go with him the look in his face when she asked him about the ship. They dark, shifted look that she now knew meant that he was lying. What else was Jace lying about? Clary cleared her throat and looked up at the two men.  
“It’s ok, it fine. I just want….” Clary rubbed her eyes. “Actually, Luke could you take me to the hospital. I wanna visit my mom.”

Luke looked taken aback. “…Alright then.”

She didn’t let either of them touch her as they made their way back to the truck, every step on the concrete a slap of disappointment. Clary was silent the whole ride there, clutching her duffle bag and staring out the window. Luke parked and Clary jumped out. Luke and Simon began to get out as well until Clary stopped and turned to face them.

“Guys…please. I’ve got to do this by myself. I just need to be alone right now.”

Clary didn’t bother to look back as she strode inside the hospital and up to her mother’s room, where she knew exactly who would be waiting for her. She was right. Madeleine was in Jocelyn’s room; she had looked up at exactly the moment that Clary entered the room. They locked eyes and Madeleine slowly sat up. Clary began to speak. 

“Take me to Idris.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
TBC….


	7. The confidant beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own either series.  
> Warnings: Violence, language, hints of pre-slash and incest. Basically what’s in a typical episode.   
> AN: A new arc has begun and it’s got more action and interaction than the previous one.   
> Word count: 24,490  
> Enjoy!

“Excuse me?” Madeleine asked. 

“Please.” Clary replied. “I told you, I have to go to Idris.”

“I take it, that your previous plans fell through?” Madeleine continued. “The Clave called a meeting that is mandatory for all shadowhunters and I know Maryse Lightwood has already left, which I confess is a surprise to me because I made plans to leave with her much earlier today. I’m sorry she left without you.”

Clary started up at Madeleine in surprise before gritting her teeth and responding. The older woman was unfazed by these and instead looked at Clary with a pitying expression. She gave Clary a small shrug. 

“I know that.” Clary gritted out. “You made me a promise. Will you keep it?” she asked. 

“What you are asking me is illegal.” Madeleine held up her hand. “Not to mention too difficult for me to perform. Magnus has already closed the portal, as surely as the other warlock on the other side in Idris.”

“Then why did you agree to help me? I know you are on my mother’s side, if you weren’t her friend I wouldn’t trust you. I know you want to help her as much as I do, and I won’t stop until she wakes up.”

Madeleine stared hard at Clary, squaring her shoulders and squeezing Clary’s arms. Her grip was firm and steady. It took her a moment before she closed her eyes and nodded.

“I assume you have some form of a plan, especially if the portal itself has already been closed.”

Clary grinned and then remembered. “Wait.” Clary said. “So the portal has to be open on two sides for it to work?” 

“Yes.”

Clary nodded to herself. “Ok then, that shouldn’t be a problem.” 

Madeleine tilted her head in askance. “How so?”

Clary held out her stele. “I just need you to do two things. Can you contact the person on the other side to open a portal…or?”

Madeleine shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I know where he lives, so I suppose you just need to know the location?” 

“I think so…could you describe how it looks?”

Madeleine smiled and began to describe the surroundings. Clary closed her eyes, letting her imagination weave into the landscape Madeleine was painting for her. Clary felt her arm raise, her stele trembling with power and she felt her stele puncture the air, making the shape of a door, a single word being chanted in her mind. 

‘Open.’ 

She opened her eyes and gasped. A shimmering doorway was floating inches from the hospital’s linoleum floor. Its edges shimmered in gold, the only true color of the door, and it blurred like a heat wave. This was the only thing that truly gave it shape that marked it out for being a door because it wouldn’t look like a door without it. It reminded Clary of when she colored in between the lines of her coloring books, except that this time she was most defiantly coloring outside of the lines. Inside of the doorway, was a swirl of wind and distorted colors, the odd shape flying by. Clary swallowed, glancing at the hospital door that was so bright that it hurt her eyes. She stared at it, suddenly seeing the room as a whole. She was in a hospital, with nurses and patients, and here there was a portal to another country in the room. Clary turned to Madeleine; the portal was just big enough for two. 

“Ready?”

Madeleine nodded, her eyes hardened with resolve. She held out her hand and Clary took it, the older woman’s grip was firm and her calluses hard. She had shadowhunter hands. Clary took a breath and stepped into the portal.   
________________________________________________________________________  
It felt like a thousand hands had grabbed her, pulling her forward and sucking the air out of her lungs as though it stole the very oxygen from her body. Clary thought she heard Madeline gasp beside her, a sound that was torn away from her and blown behind them. Clary gritted her teeth and willed herself to breathe. She had to keep her eyes wide despite the nausea that was overwhelming her as colors and shapes blended together, rushing past her like the landscape seen from a speeding car. Clary’s heart was tugging her forward, almost downward as the two were swirled about. Madeleine crashed into her, making a small hiss a pain. Madeleine’s silvery hair whipped around Clary’s face and tangling around Clary’s neck and she shivered as she felt the older woman’s lips brush her jaw; she was shouting, but Clary could barely make out the words. Clary shouted back, just sounds as she tried to keep her limbs from waving wildly from the force of the portal. She could barely breathe as the force exerted on her slammed into them and her eyes streamed with tears as she tried not to panic. Clary had no idea where they would end up despite the mental picture she had when drawing the portal; hopefully it could sense that kind of thing, but it seemed more in control than herself. Clary tightened her grip on Madeleine, afraid that if she moved even an inch, she would be ripped away from Madeleine and they would be flung in opposite directions. 

Suddenly, the tunnel of form and light narrowed into a tube and she felt a pull downwards from her navel that yanked her forward with such force that her mouth open and she felt like her organs might spill out of her at any moment. The world suddenly spun together and she could no longer keep her eyes open and then just as suddenly then a feeling of suspension for a split second, jolting as though she had been yanked to a sudden stop by a taunt wire and hung in the air before plummeting downwards; Clary squinted and saw the earth rushing to meet her. She took a breath and screamed.

_______________________________________________________________________  
Jace shifted in his seat, his tea cold and untouched. The Penhallow house was not quite bustling, but Jace knew his hosts were trying to keep good spirits; their guests had a family member who was going to be on trial for siding with Valentine, or with something to that effect. No one was really sure what happened, even though many shadowhunters were on the boat that day. Jace knew just how lucky they were that the Penhallow’s, old family friends that had been their allies since before anyone could remember. Jace leaned back into the leather sofa and watched Isabelle and Aline Penhallow chat about fashion. Aline, unlike themselves had been raised in Idris, never having set foot out of the country. Despite this, she was wearing more mundane clothes and had a much more casual way of speaking. Aline and Isabelle were polar opposites, always had been, but the two got along so well that whenever they got to the chance to speak to one another, their conversations could go on for hours. 

That didn’t leave much room for Jace, but he didn’t feel like talking much anyway. Jace studiously ignored Aline’s cousin Sebastian Verlac, who seemed keen to start up a conversation with him but spoke little and laughed at Isabelle’s jokes. Not for the first time that day, Jace wished that Alec was with him, despite the fact that his parabatai did not feel the same way.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary gasped. Idris was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. She wished she had brought her sketchbook with her, but the only thing she had with her from her luggage was the green cloak that Luke had given her. When the portal had dumped her down on the ground and Madeleine had to pull her up. The two didn’t speak as Clary stared. She could recall the pictures that Simon showed her of the trip him and his family went to Europe. The landscape had made her heart beat fast, but this was better than the pictures of Italian countryside. Clary looked back at Madeleine and grinned; she had done it, she was in Idris!

“I know this area, Ragnor lives close by.” Madeleine said. 

“Will he be home?” Clary asked. 

“Hopefully. He rarely goes into Alicante, but he likes to stay busy.” 

Clary frowned. “Alicante is the capitol right?”

“Yes. It’s really the only city that we have. It’s guarded by the demon towers that surround the city. Which is why infiltrating the city is impossible.”

“Demon towers?”

“Yes, they’re made from a substance that is similar to our stele’s. Even so, security around Alicante is tight and the wards surrounding them are guarded.”

“You make it sound like I’ll sneak in.” At a look from Madeleine she continued. “Well, I’ll try not to.” 

Madeleine smiled and they continued onwards. Clary was glad she was wearing flats; the ground was hard, but she kept staring at the scenery, nearly tripping a few times because she couldn’t take her eyes off it. The sky was a shade of blue she had never seen before, in fact the entire sky seemed to be filled with a range of colors that Clary had never encountered and her heart thudded; she wished she had her sketchbook and come pencils, but she had the feeling she wouldn’t be able to get it down properly. Looking at the landscape she could see why a shadowhunter would get homesick for Idris. It was beautiful. Clary could remember seeing the pictures Simon showed her of when his mother took their family to Italy, and Clary was envious when she flipped through the hi-def pictures of Italian countryside. This was so much better. The hills lush with gold and green, the purple mountains in the background, and the soft looking grass amid the firm ground. Her heart was stopping as she stumbled over the ground, trying to take in everything and not miss a moment. Her breath caught as the clouds partially obscured the sun, resulting in a shaft of sunlight shooting down to the ground. It was as though angels had pushed through the clouds to bring the affectionate light to touch the countryside, and the sun illuminated Madeleine’s silver hair, making it look as though it was on fire. 

Clary gasped in delight when it became obvious that they had reached their destination. There it was, a modest wooden cabin surrounded in rolling hills and emerald fields. The cabin itself looked to be made of sturdy wood, possibly oak or redwood. Either way, it was a deep color that had a natural gleam. It had a thick foundation that was raised by a few inches off the ground, with beams keeping it up. There was a small set of stairs of on the left leading to a porch at least five feet in length and nearly three feet in width, enough for a small bench that had a faded blue blanket draped over it and a small round winker table. A glass rested on the table, with what looked like a bottle of wine and a stack of cards (Clary had an inkling they were tarot). Overhead of the bench was a small window with a white frame around the screen. The door was on the opposite side, the left hand side. The door was ajar but the screen door behind it was closed. She could see a tall figure behind it and Madeleine did as well, quickening her pace so that Clary had to stride to catch up. 

The roof was sturdy, as the cabin had at least two floors with two windows; it ran length-wise the same as the porch below it, so it looked as the one could climb out the windows and lounge on the roof. It was shingled lightly as it was expertly held tighter; the only thing that was made of stoned was the chimney, which was smoking slightly. The smoke dissipating in the midday air, and the front yard had no decorations save the fertile ground. Full bloomed flowers hugged the foundation, their colors soft, almost pastel against the swollen hills.

Clary fanned her face with her hand. She hoped its owner was home. It looked a well lived place and she quickly felt at ease. It gave an odd sense of nostalgia; not as if she had actually been there, but that could have and would have done so if given the chance to. Suddenly the sight of what should have been hers was too painful to look at. Instead she focused on the figure that was beginning to open the door and her body trembled when she sensed Madeleine stiffen beside her. The door to the cabin opened and the figure emerged. The figure was distinctly male. A square jaw robustly sculpted with a firm hand. He had a steady frame incasing full pilgrim lips and an aquiline nose, but his eyes were the most impressive feature. The color green of the sharpest tone, managing to be both stern and had a calm that belied a type of fierce, wise kind of pride that she had never seen before. It had to be Ragnor. He was tall, a smooth musculature that showed a power that spoke of maleness, but far more grace. Clary longed to sketch him; she wanted to capture the power that radiated off of him like a wave. However the overwhelming sense of strength wasn’t pronounced because of a feeling of aggressiveness, but rather with the calm expression that gave the impression that he was someone whose voice was expected to be heard. Clary was never more surprised at what was obviously not glamour; Clary realized that he probably disliked doing that he wouldn’t feel the need to do so in Idris. Clary didn’t know if that was allowed, but why shouldn’t it be?

Clary knew that warlocks all had something to them that gave away what they really were, but he stood out. His skin was green. A hue somewhere between evergreen and leaf, he had white hair that was as long and straight as a girl’s and it was slicked back with a brusque efficiency. It reached just to his waist and was held in place by two large ram’s horns on the each side of his head and just below his pointed ears. 

Those eyes never left their sharpness as they looked at her, focusing their attention on her with the kind of astuteness that made Clary shiver, as if she was exposed to a harsh wind. However, they also regarded her with a mild disdain, but beneath it was something more enigmatic. Maybe he knew something that she didn’t and his eyes showed a brief sympathy that had a shine of determination. Clary was filled with foreboding that didn’t stop her from trembling. This only took a few minutes, because as soon as he swept his gaze off her, she gasped with relief. When his eyes met Madeleine’s, they intensified almost impossibly.

Clary shuddered at the look; it was familiar, but the surprising feeling that was accompanied it was. She felt a heady rush of desire that made her ache in places that she didn’t think was possible with anyone other than Jace. Clary blinked the haziness away from her. She had enough rudimentary skill at recognizing the sensation for what it was. Madeleine gasped loudly, almost obscenely. It snapped Clary back to her surroundings and she turned to look at the older woman. She had tears in her eyes, a strange smile tugging her lips-he, Ragnor let the door slam behind him as he strode forward with force gravity could not deny. In three strides, he went to Madeleine and in one fluid motion embraced her. To Clary it was as if time stopped just for them; they didn’t pull away and when they finally did, Ragnor’s tapered fingers curled inches from her hair; Madeleine shivered, her own fingers brushing the tips of his horns, as if she couldn’t believe that she was actually touching them. Clary ached with tension just watching them, and felt unable to pull away as Madeleine kissed him. 

Clary’s vision zoomed in, fascinated as their lips pressed together, opening like blooming petals, suffused with color and smoothly in rhythm, spreading their tongues over and into each other’s mouths. She caught a quick glimmer of moisture before quickly closing up, their lips moving furiously, but the real dance taking place behind the flesh; like watching a silhouette of two people making love. It ended too soon and both Ragnor and Madeleine stared at her. She realized in that whole time, she didn’t avert her eyes once.

“Uh…Sorry.” Clary stammered. ‘So that’s why she trusted Downworlders…’

“No, I should apologize. I got carried away.”

Madeleine blushed, suddenly looking like a young girl; her small hands released their firm grip from Ragnor’s horns. She stood back, straightened up and spread out her hands, moving them as she made the introductions.

“Clarissa, this is Ragnor Fell.”

Ragnor nodded and began to speak. “Forgive my rudeness, but I know who you are, Clarissa Morgenstern daughter of Valentine and sister of-”

“Clary will do just fine.”

Her voice sounded flat even to hers as Ragnor regarded her with unsurprised eyes and Clary felt briefly chastised before pushing it down. He nodded in response.

“Come inside we have much to talk about.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
The inside of the cabin was lit by natural sunlight; the wooden beams of the ceiling lighting up a dark golden brown but what Clary took notice of the most was lower. The furniture was covered in books, ancient and thick, written in languages’ she didn’t understand. The number of candles was astonishing and quite a few were black, their wax cascading down their wick in dried clumps. Large copper bowls were stacked against each other on the counter, kitchen next to them and kept clean. There was a single table in this first room, the floor swept and it had a slight sheen to it that made Clary long to take off her shoes. 

The room next over, was the living room. Clary could see the couch lined up next to a little nightstand cluttered with books piled next to a lamp. A coffee table across from both the couch and the fireplace which was smoldering on blackened logs. There was a picture hanging over the fireplace, the frame a dark red with no ornamental features save its somber aura. The picture itself was a landscape of dark mountains, lightening striking in the distance. It gave Clary a shiver; the longer she stared at it, the more she got sucked in. The mountain was familiar, at least in some place in her mind. Ragnor cleared his throat, making Clary turn back with a sheepish smile. 

“Ah. Sorry.” Clary extended her hand. “My name is-”

“Clarissa Morgenstern, daughter of Jocelyn and Valentine.”

“Most people just call me Clary.”

Ragnor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I remember your mother.” I have known her since birth.”

“Is that why you helped her?” 

“Yes. When she first came to me about suspicions about her husband, I wasn’t surprised. Jocelyn begged for help, not for herself but for her children’s sake. She often expressed her wish for an equal world for you…and us. “

Madeline grabbed Ragnor’s hand. He briefly smiled before squeezing back. As if it wasn’t already clear why these two entrusted her, the daughter of the woman who was so dear in to them…a woman who was becoming more of a stranger by the day and Clary cleared her throat again. She stared back at the couple sitting opposite her and tried to gather her thoughts. Both looked expectantly back and Clary clenched her fists.

“So, Madeleine told me that the cure for my mother is in the Book of White.”

Ragnor nodded. “Against my better judgment she told me where she his it.”

“Wait, what?”

Ragnor fixed her with a look. “I entrusted her with the book despite her being a nephilim. Her character seemed to transcend the typical arrogance of the rest of her kind. Her husband on the other hand went to opposite extremes. He had threatened my life and Madeleine’s more than once.”

Madeleine took over. “After Jonathan was born,” Clary flinched at the mention, but the other woman continued, “She changed, or so Lucien had told me but this was later on. Apparently, Valentine had told everyone that he lost his parabatai, that when Lucien had been killed by a werewolf, but Lucien had come to me about his concern over Jocelyn, so clearly Valentine had been lying. I say this because the parabatai bond is so strong, so binding that if one died the other would certainly feel it. That Valentine lied was suspect to me, nephilim pride be damned.”

Ragnor then spoke when it became clear that Madeleine would not.

“When Jocelyn came to me, she spoke of Valentine’s entire secret, or rather, all those that she was aware of. He had a basement full of experiments, of tortured downworlders in cages, stacks of notes detailing the horrors of what he did to them. Of what he did to Jonathan, on this Jocelyn was wary, she only told me that Valentine turned him into a monster.”

Clary couldn’t stifle her gasp. “That isn’t true, Jace isn’t a monster!” 

Madeleine frowned, but Ragnor merely shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I only recall what she said to me.”

Clary flushed, looking down at her lap. She recalled the memories of her mother crying over the box of baby Jonathan’s things, a lock of fair hair between her fingers. At the spasms of pain that flashed at the thought of her supposedly dead son. 

‘So why then? Why call him a monster, and then mourn him? That even Mom thought he was wrong, because he was Valentine’s son? That doesn’t make sense, so there must be something I’m missing…right? I hope so, if not then I must be the only one who knows that’s not true; Jace isn’t a monster-no matter what.’

When Clary looked up, she saw Ragnor stare at her. His expression was challenging, but still calm. Clary nodded. 

“I’m sorry, please continue.”

“As I said, she came to me after her son had been born, begging for help and told me she could not afford to make that mistake a second time; you’re existence confirmed my suspicions that she was pregnant at the time.” He paused. 

‘So why protect me and not him?’ 

Ragnor continued. “Jocelyn told me that Valentine would not stop until his plans were completed or with his death. She detailed the plans of the uprising to the two of us and Lucien. How much of what she said to him I don’t know, but she expressed a desire to escape after they would defeat Valentine and his Circle. I made her the spell that would put her into a deep sleep that only the Book of White could cure. I gave it to her, but I suppose her told me of the location of where she hid the book as a sign of her trust in me. She insisted and I relented. Jocelyn told me that it was rightfully mine and that she was merely using it. In retrospect, I suppose that does make her a worthy friend. So I will help you.”

Throat unexpectedly tight, she nodded. “Thank you.”

Ragnor acted as if he hadn’t noticed. “The Book of White resides in the Wayland manor, in their library, disguised as a cookbook. However, there are wards around the place, designed to protect against intruders. So it will not be a task-”

“That’s fine.”

“That you will not accomplish in your current state.”

Clary started. “Current state?”

Ragnor looked unmoved. “You are not strong enough to do this yet. Granted you are talented enough, but you have much to learn. In fact, I do not believe you to be fully capable yet. Inside of you there is much turmoil, which you must overcome. I need you to be fully focused for you to come into your full power.”

Ragnor looked merciless; Clary knew in that moment that nothing escaped this man that he was seeing into her and her life was an open book. His eyes bored into hers and they were so different from hers. They held a pain that made Clary feel young in comparison. Her indignation slowly dissipated and was replaced with determination. 

“Then teach me. Please.”

“Obviously.” 

Clary could have sworn she saw Ragnor roll his eyes. The would-be reaction made her think of Magnus. These two warlocks were as different as night and day, perfectly shown to her. Ragnor had a calm but stiff posture and stern features. He seemed how a warlock would act, or rather, how she thought one would act before should before she met one herself. A Gandalf-esque character of serious wisdom and a strong sense of justice and Clary shook herself. Ragnor wasn’t a made up character and he certainly wouldn’t enjoy be called one. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t send you into danger without some kind of training. However, being thrust into life is the best way to learn how to live, but I’m betting you’ve been dealt some blows.”

“I guess so.”

“Well then, come with me and show me what you can do.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Jace strode to the window, his surroundings of no interest to him. Mayrse, Robert, nor Alec had come back. Max was reading one of his manga books, sharing it with Sebastian Verlac, who was Aline Penhallow’s cousin. Jace repressed a sigh, feeling the frown tighten his skull and increase his impending headache. His eyes pushed past the Asian wall scrolls and the sleek sound system that pulsed out a piece of music that Jace knew to be Bach, but he didn’t care that he couldn’t remember anything past that. He watched Isabelle handling a knife with an impressed smile, the light of the blade reflecting in her face, making her eyes spark and reveal a richer shade of blue-black. It lit up her hair, making the strands shine. She handed the knife back to Aline by the knife’s tip. Aline took it back with slim fingers. The Penhallow family emblem gleamed on the handle; the knife looked brand new, almost ceremonial but Jace knew better. 

The sun was setting, its light filtering through the expansive windows with a burnished light that back lit the two girls, making them seem as if they were angels. Both were beautiful with their graceful necks and angled faces, and black hair. For a moment they could be sisters; the word brought the image of Clary to him. He could see her standing in their place, the sun setting behind her. She wasn't holding the knife though and her arms would be wide open. The sun lighting her hair like fire cascading down her soft skin and eyes brighter, happier than the sun, greener than he’d ever seen. Each time he saw her, he thought he’d get used to their color but then he’d see her again and be shocked by their vivid tone that left him struggling to breathe. His sister. Jace was filled with self-loathing and desire so intense that he broke his own illusion to see again Isabelle and Aline.

Aline blushed and it took Jace a moment to realize that he had been staring straight at her for who knew how long. He gritted his teeth and let his gaze bore into her. It was true, she was unconventionally pretty. Maybe it was the way she stood; like a willow tree swaying in the breeze, but her dark eyes were focused and their almond shaped retaining a keen intelligence. Her smiled was confident despite the deep blush on her delicately high planed face. She was slim figured and her skin soft. Aline pushed back a stream of hair and smiled at him. Jace smirked at the familiar response and forced his walk into an equally familiar swagger as he strode to the two girls. He kept his gaze to Aline and nodded to Isabelle.

“I need some fresh air and I hear your garden is in bloom. Care to show me?”

Aline’s smile widened. “Of course, you must see the roses first.”

Isabelle arched an eyebrow thinly, but then shrugged and she went into the kitchen without a word. Aline led him out the door, it was beautifully paned with a design of cherry blossoms, the pink in stark glow from the sun. Jace made sure to shut it gently behind him. He realized with a brief and sudden surprise that his hand was shaking, but the door hadn’t made a sound. He followed her down the stone pathway. His boots starkly black against the fresh grass. Aline stopped by a large clump of rosebushes that grew opposite a small pond encased around high stones; small silver koi darted around each other, causing the water to ripple. Aline spun around, nearly bumping into Jace.

“Sorry.” She said, but made no move to step back.

Instead, she let Jace came closer, to the point where he could wrap his arms around her if he wanted to. The artificial scent of her perfume seemed odd to him, but not oppressive. Jace felt his heart pound in an unhappy rhythm, but it gave him an adrenaline rush that he welcomed. With one hand he brought down to Aline’s waist, cinching her with his fingers. Jace felt his own calluses against the thin fabric of Aline’s dress. It felt like glue, to be sticking to her and unable to pull away and with his other hand he lifted it close to Aline, as if to brush back her hair from her face, but his hand slowly moved to the roses, plucking a ripe one from the bush. Jace brought it to his lips, the scent filling his nose. He pressed the rose to his face, letting his eyelids flutter as he let it overcome him and then just as quickly crushed the flower in his fist. 

Aline blinked in surprise and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Jace closed it with his own. Her lips were softer than he imagined, but she tasted nothing like Clary. Jace pressed his lips closer, prying hers open and letting his tongue wander inside. His fingers clamped like a vice about her hip and shoulder, but made no move to close the gap he knew was there; his posture stiff even to him. Aline mewled and the sound made Jace move. Almost in frenzy, his hands unfroze from their places and tore at her blouse. A part of her cleavage peeked through, almost filling him with something close to anger. It took him a moment to realize that his eyes were open the entire time. 

There was a sudden sound of someone clearly their throat. Aline gasped, sending a vibration through Jace’s mouth, but before he could process his reaction, Aline broke away and hastily buttoned her shirt back up, flushing heavily. Jace turned to see who interrupted them. It was Alec. Jace felt the color drain from his face, heart pounding too quickly. Alec looked equally uncomfortable, eyes not quite looking at Jace. He clenched his fists together, forcing a smile to his face despite the sinking feeling in his stomach and he swallowed back the bile.

“Meeting over already?” Jace winced at how obvious the jovial tone was forced. “Ready to clap me in irons?” he asked.

Alec flinched and Jace immediately felt guilty. He stared at Alec; the need to tell the truth combined with the ache in his chest, so he stared at Alec and ignored everything else. Aline stared back and forth between to two of them with a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension. 

“I-I’ll just go.”

She scurried inside, moving aside for Jace, who ignored the courtesy and made for Alec.

“Well, my parabatai is it time to go?”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary panted heavily, sweat coming into her eyes and she rubbed at with a free hand. The hand that held her stele shook uncontrollably. 

“Well you are improving.”

Clary flushed from the praise, unable to speak as she grimly nodded. Ragnor did not give compliments easy. 

“However, it’s obvious how worn out you are and Madeline made lunch. Hurry and get changed.”

Clary managed a smile. “Yes sir.”

She wasn’t too sure how much time had passed, but it had to have been at least a day? She hadn’t bothered to count. Despite her rush, rescuing her mother might take a while. 

“Madeleine has her own room upstairs, first door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Ragnor merely nodded and walked back into the cabin. Clary took one last look at the back yard of flattened, decimated trees and smiled to herself. Yes, definitely improving. She hurried inside, passing through the kitchen and living room to take the stairs, the foot of which was wide and on the left hand side of the rear of the living room. The flight of stairs then turned slightly to get to the next level. The upstairs hallway was carpeted a dark red. At the end of the hall, was the bathroom but Clary hurried to the door closer to her on the left. Clary knocked quickly.

“Come in.”

Clary opened the door and stepped inside. Madeleine’s room was modestly furnished. The bed on the left hand side next to the sliding closet, it was large and situated downwards. It had an iron headboard in the design of water lilies and it had darkened with age. Across from the bed was the dresser made of oak, its mirror expansive above it. A chair next to it, seat cover plush; its cream color in stark contrast to the darker wooden frame that supported it and a door next to the chair was open and Clary could see that it was another closet. Curious, Clary walked inside. The top shelf held a few pairs of shoes, but more than that were books, boxes, and almost trinket like objects. That was interesting, but Clary’s gaze traveled down to the clothes on the rungs. She was right not to bring pants along with her; dresses filled the space, the styles seemed old, like something out a period movie. The colors ranged from deep velvety hues to girlish pastels and somber neutrals. Clary pushed past the dresses to see the familiar shadowhunter gear. She always wondered what it felt like. Grabbing the fabric, she realized it was more flexible than she thought it would be, but it wasn’t soft by any means. It was leather, pounded into the durable texture that she’d seen so many shadowhunters moved so gracefully in. She fingered one of the buckles, the cold metal sending shivers up her hands.

“See anything you like?”

Clary dropped her hand and spun around to face Madeleine.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. How about you just pick something from there and take a shower.”

Clary shrugged. “Oh, just surprise me.”

Madeleine smiled. “If you insist.”

Clary took her shower and when she got back to Madeleine’s room, clothes had already been laid out for her at the foot of the bed. Madeleine had sat down, brushing her hair. Clary was startled by just how pretty it was, thick silver hair untangling and gleaming by the brush. She set the brush down, letting her hair fall. 

“You’ll need help putting that on. Some of our clothes can be a bit old fashioned.”

“I noticed.” Clary smiled.

Clary took off her towel, folding it. She blushed as Madeleine took it from her, the older woman smiled reassuringly. She then held up an ivory colored slip, its sheer material made Clary glad she took a bath. She lifted up her arms and Madeleine slipped it over her. The slip came just above her knees. It made Clary think of all the old classic movies she watched with Luke and her mother. The slip had no straps, but it held up rather well with an elastic band coming just below her breasts. Next, Madeleine handed her a pair of white stockings and Clary marveled at the softness and she took her time unfolding them and pulling them up her legs. She allowed herself to shiver as the fabric glossed over her legs; they stayed firmly on her flesh. They stopped at the thighs, their lace trim bright and pure against peach colored skin and Clary swished her legs.

“Here, this can be a little bit more difficult.”

Madeleine held up a dress and Clary gasped finally. It was a gorgeous thing made her think of going back in time, when women wore a kind of finery not from this century. However, this dress was simpler, which just enhanced its beauty. It was the color of ivory with a gold trim on the edges of the bodice and hem. The dress consisted of two parts, the bodice, which looked like a corset, was held up by thin straps and it was clearly meant to give the wearer curves. The bodice had an hourglass shape that was firmly in place and dipped into sharp points at the hips and front. The back had laces, the kind of semi-thick ribbon that could hold up fabric such as this one. The most distinguishing feature of said bodice was in the front. At the front of the bodice and the dip in the front was a rose. By Clary’s guess it rested below the belly button, but just below the hips bones and bold against the sharp tapering line where the edge of where the bodice met the skirt. The flower itself was the only other color besides the ivory, as well as the only design on the body itself. The rose couldn’t have been real, but Clary was mesmerized. It was so real looking, the petals thick and fresh, pinker than her lips, the color so vibrant but somehow more delicate than any shade of red. It was in full bloom and the detail of the depth of the flower somehow made her blush. 

As for her skirt, it flared out at the hips before tapering down, still managing to look full by the folds of the fabric. Clary lifted the hem to reveal the petticoat beneath, the lacy trim on the skirt was patterned with vines and she pulled the dress back down, smooth in her hands. It had gold trim that snaked upwards in the outline of vines, green filling in the vines and trailing up in such a way that it wasn’t obtrusive. It took the wearer by surprise as the vines came up mid-length and getting thinner the higher they went, one tendril coming to rest at the hip.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you; it was a gift from Ragnor. There, hold still.”

Clary nodded, letting her mind drift as Madeleine unlaced the dress and Clary stepped into it, gritting her teeth as Madeleine laced her up, each pull nearly stealing her breath. A few more tugs and Madeleine turned her by the shoulders and Clary looked at her in surprise; the dress was so tight that her chest felt uncomfortable, she saw her breasts heave quickly in an effort to breathe. Madeleine handed Clary a jacket wrap. It was obviously meant to be a match for the dress because it was the same color and design as the dress. Ivory colored with gold trim and green vines wrapped around the sleeves, which hugged her arms as she put it on, but got a bit looser at the wrist. The whole thing was see through and had two ties of fabric in the front that she tied together. It came just under her breasts and the wrap covered them for the most part, but Clary didn’t think it improved her modesty too much. The wrap covered the lower half of her shoulders, the back of the wrap only covering the top half of her back, ending just below the shoulder blades. Clary made a grab for the boots next. 

“You can use those for riding.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can teach you.”

“Um…o-ok, yeah sure.” 

Clary’s heart fluttered nervously as she laced up the boots. They were nice. Black leather with a slight heel, but not too high to be difficult to move in and ankle length, the groove in the arch of the heel enough fir perfect riding and the front of the shoe was easy to walk in. As soon as the laces were tied, she knew she’d love them. She let Madeleine direct her to the mirror and Clary laughed and tried not to blush. The dress gave her the illusion of curves, smooth and tight with the bodice pushing up her breasts, which she had to admit weren’t very impressive (especially next to Isabelle), but with the bodice, she was probably falling out of said dress. This was novel; she wouldn’t be wearing clothes like this when she got back home. She turned to Madeleine and was surprised to see the soft expression that she was wearing.

“You look so much like Jocelyn.”

“Come on, Ragnor’s waiting.”   
____________________________________________________________________  
The night kept the inside of the cave, calm as the three individuals speaking to one another. Unfiltered shadows of a witchlight stone bounced around the craggy edges of the cave’s walls. 

“Well well well, this is not an unwelcome surprise. So the devil’s real after all. What brings you to our humble little country?”

“Well, I am an angel after all and Raziel meant only for the worthy to become Nephilim…”

“So you knew Raziel?”

“Yes-”

“Forgive my interruption but there is the manner at hand.”

“Of course.”

“Jonathan I want you to follow him as you would me.” He looked at little apprehensive at this and beginning to open his mouth to question, but was silenced by an even look. “Our objectives haven’t changed and we have gained a powerful ally. His help is proof enough that the angel is on our side. We will have our way Jonathan. Our plan is still the same.”

“Yes, I figured as much.” He stood up. “With that in mind, I’ll take as my cue to leave. 

He walked away, whistling jauntily in the dark, the sound echoing in some mocking tones as he got further and further away from them. 

“I’m grateful that you have told me of your plan; I like it. Very original.”

“Thank you. It was nothing.”

Valentine shivered at the chill of his companion’s voice despite his praise. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time, hadn’t wanted to impress anyone like this since Jocelyn. Here was an intelligent and daring being who shared his vision. 

“In fact, I have a few suggestions as to improve it.”

“Go on.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Do I have to explain this to you in a simpler way?” Ragnor asked.

“I think so.”

“Alright, picture a tree.”

Clary frowned in confusion and she shot a questioning glace at Madeleine, who was washing the dishes. The older woman only smiled and inclined her head to Ragnor. Clary turned back to the warlock, who arched an eyebrow.

“Ok, trees.” She said. 

“Yes. Picture a tree. This tree is magic and its branches are the various forms of magic, which can be very different from each other, but all from the same place because magic is energy and energy can never be destroyed, merely converted you understand?”

“Yes.” ‘So that’s why the monsters that hunters deal with are real, why some magic can work for them. Bet only a few people know that.’ 

“Here is an example. That mark on your arm. Hold it out and let me see.” Clary held out her arm, forearm revealing the scorched mark emblazoned on her flesh. Ragnor’s fingers brushed and prodded at the mark, leaning down to stare at it. Clary watched Ragnor’s eyes glaze over as he inspected the intricate scrawl that was branded on her. Her ears began to ring. 

“I had a dream, my mother took a piece of wood and she drew this.” 

Clary winced. The buzzing in her ears was stronger the longer she stared at the mark.

“I think it means…serve.”

Ragnor looked sharply at her before exchanging a look with Madeleine, who went into the next room and returned with a thick book. Madeleine handed it to Ragnor and his eyes glittered as he opened the book, flipping through thick pages. Clary shivered. 

“I have read this book many times. It contains every rune that exists, and the one on your arm is most certainly not in this book.”

Clary rubbed her arms and leaned over the table. Ragnor slid the book over to her. She grabbed it, feeling its glassy pages cool and firm beneath her fingers. The runes seemed to burn the pages much fiercer than they did her eyes; the more she stared at them, the blurrier her vision got as something began to flash to her eyes. It passed through her and strange enough that she suddenly felt like crying. 

“Of course you can read them. I think you can do more than that. I think you can create ones never seen before.”

Clary sucked in a breath. “Impossible. What makes you say that?”

“Madeleine told me about the ship being destroyed. I may not know all the details, but something tells me you had a hand in its destruction. Do not forget the mark on your arm, and because you are Jocelyn’s daughter.” 

“Well then can you get me a sketch pad please? If I can really do what you say then I can finally help my mother.”

Ragnor nodded as Clary flipped through the book, the one she remembered as being called the Grey Book. The runes brought up out the images of the words they represented like neon signs glaring at her, willing her to understand. Each one brought out a sense of when they meant, of what she was supposed to do. Clary nodded when a notebook was given to her, suppressing the sudden ache in her chest. She flipped open to a blank page, wondering what to put; there were already many runes designed for all sorts of purposes. Defense, healing, balance, fighting, protection, and more; why not something that could do those things, to be put to good use by any Shadowhunter in need of it. 

‘So what would a Shadowhunter really need?’ she thought ‘something for everyone, which they all need. So I guess it should be for something we all have, but what would that be?’ 

Clary let her mind wander as her pencil swirled aimlessly over the page. She ignored the twinge in her arm, but it gave her an idea. She focused her hand, keeping it steady as she felt her mind buzz in time with her arm. The pins and needles sensation seemed like a current that flowed from her body and onto the page. It honed onto her fingers, commanding her body and sharpening her mind to the image she was creating almost against her will it seemed. Clary’s fingers pressed harder onto the pencil, causing bold lines to announce themselves on the page. Her whole chest ached and it took her a moment to realize it because she was speaking rapidly under her breath, a mantra that made her chest rattle.

“Fearless…fearless…fearless…fearless.”

As long as it took to sketch, it stopped just as suddenly. Her pencil slapped the page and she flexed her hand. To Clary who had finally raised her voice, it sounded strange even to her.

“It is called fearless.” She intoned. 

Clary pushed the sketchbook to Ragnor. The warlock raised a thick eyebrow, but said nothing as he stared at the newfound rune in front of him.   
“Course I don’t know if it’ll work.” Clary said. 

“I can verify it.” Madeleine replied, pulling out her stele.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Has the consul reached a decision?”

“….It is difficult.”

“He is Jonathan Morgenstern!”

“Exactly. He is the son of the greatest and the worst Shadowhunter that has ever been produced.”

“What of it?”

“He seems to be following in her his father’s footsteps. The destruction of the ship should be proof enough!”

“We cannot be sure of Jonathan’s involvement in, so much that the late Inquisitor Herondale did not finish her report.”

“I believe she had an accurate grasp of the situation. The Lightwood’s behavior-”

“Is not pertinent to this investigation.”

“Either way, a decision must be reached on Jonathan Morgenstern’s actions.”

“Take in consideration his truthfulness in regards to that matter.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Indeed. His actions ultimately shape his character.”

“So how does this council rule?”  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Thanks for doing this.”

“No, it is my pleasure, when you told me that you didn’t know how to ride, I’m more than happy to show you.”

“Well good then then. I could use a break.”

“I can tell. I’m glad that I can be of assistance.”

“Well Ragnor was right. I’ve got a lot to learn. There is so much about Shadowhunters I don’t know and some of those things I wish I didn’t.” 

“Yes, the inequality between our races has not changed in all the time we have existed.”

Clary’s boots thudded on the hard packed earth as Madeleine led her to the stables, which the older woman explained that she shared with Ragnor since the two did not live far from each other. The afternoon sun felt good on her back, warming her in a way that the subject matter of their conversation did not. Time to change the subject.

“So then, how did you and Ragnor fall in love, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No I don’t mind you asking.” She smiled. “Well it wasn’t easy. We met when we were young; it was your mother who introduced us. Jocelyn and I had gone riding when my horse went over a hole and I sprained my ankle. Ragnor was close by so he was the one who healed me. One look in his eyes and I was smitten. He looked so calm, so steady, that I felt safe whenever he was around me. At first I didn’t know what I was feeling and I truly enjoyed his company, so smart. I realized we both prized the same qualities I couldn’t help but admire him for them and I longed for him to see me as an equal. I suppose that was why I saw him for him, and he saw me for myself. We, or rather, he saw me in the way most people do when thy have known each other for years, as friends before lovers. So for us the words Shadowhunter and downworlder mean nothing, but it doesn’t mean that everyone else sees it the same way.”

Clary’s heart was pounding; that the story set her on edge was surprising to her, but she could see herself in it, excited by Madeleine’s voice filtering through her imagination as she let herself look back at golden eyes. Clary felt a pain so acute she rubbed her chest, trying to dispel the illusion. 

They walked into the stable, the smell of hey and horses filling Clary up. It was a clean, almost comforting smell, mainly because it reminded her of Luke’s farm upstate. He didn’t have any horses, but the smell was close to that of the countryside, which Clary had always liked when she had her family around her. Madeleine led her to the stalls, three of which were occupied side by side on the left.

“Which one would you like?” Madeleine asked.

Clary, feeling shy, moved closer to the horses; they always made her nervous. Their teeth always looked the size of bricks, like they could take a chunk out of her leg if they wanted to; however, it was the one in the middle that got her attention. It was white with dappled grey hindquarters. Clary stared, awed at the power the muscles contained. She shivered, aware that she’d be astride them, that they could fling their rider off them. 

“Her name is Guinevere. She is a Lipizzaner, sixteen hands.” 

“Sixteen hands?”

“How tall she is. Horses are measured by hands.”

“Oh. She’s gorgeous.”

“I think so too.” Madeleine spoke with obvious pride. “She’s been with me for a long time now.” 

Clary reached a hand for Guinevere’s nose. The horse snorted, flicking her ears back and forth. She seemed alert, curious at Clary’s stillness and allowed her to put a hand to her nose. 

“Palms up and flat. That way she can see better.” Madeleine said. 

“Oh.”

Clary did as instructed and Guinevere nosed her palms, breathing deeply. Her nose was velvety soft against her skin and Clary giggled at the sensation, letting her other hand run up the length of the horses’ snout and to the ears. She marveled at the smoothness of the coat. The brown deep-set eyes of Guinevere stared back at her and Clary was put at ease. 

“Can you grab a saddle while I take her out?” 

Madeleine pointed to the tack wall and the saddle that hung there. It was a rich brown color, the smell of leather overpowering. Clary grabbed it from its place and grunted in surprise. It was heavier that it looked. She turned back to Madeleine, who already had Guinevere out of her stall and standing, albeit stamping her gunmetal grey hooves. Madeleine already placed a green blanket over the mare’s back. Clary wordlessly handed the saddle to Madeleine, who expertly saddled Guinevere, coming under the horse’s belly to cinch the straps. 

“Now hold her for a minute please.”

“Ok.”

Madeleine grabbed the halter and reins, gently slipping them onto Guinevere’s head. Nickering, Guinevere nuzzled Madeleine’s palm and the woman crooned in response. Madeleine nodded at Clary and she moved to the woman’s side. Clary stroked the white mane, its wavy texture pleasant to her fingers.

“Good girl.”

“Here”

Madeleine bent down and cupped her hands together; Clary had seen enough movies to know that meant she should put her foot there for her get a boost. 

“Now when you take the reins, grab a bit of her mane, use your left hand.”

“Ok.”

Clary did as Madeleine directed and she was hoisted over, scrambling to get a good grip as he hands found the saddle’s horn. For a moment Clary lay sprawled over the saddle, one leg bent and foot halfway in the stirrup and the other leg over the length of Guinevere. When she tried to slide her leg over, the mare fidgeted, making Clary freeze. Her hands gripped the horn tight.

“Keep going. Try not to be nervous.” 

“I’m not.” Clary said. “I just don’t want to fall.”

“You won’t.”

Clary eased her other leg over to the other side, struggling to get her foot in the stirrup. When she got it in, she sat up and took the reins.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The sunlight fell, breaking through the clouds like spotlights from above, illuminating the beginnings of fall in the Idrisian countryside. The surrounding hills rolling in greens, yellows, and the subtle shades that would become deeper reds and gold’s. The hills in the distance becoming more mountainous, trees covering what were rocks in forms that must have taken thousands of years to shape. The grass below was thick with life, still green against the bark, both pale and dark. Flowers in colors far more vivid than Clary thought possible, even ones that she knew were native to Idris, never to be found anywhere else. Their scent so sweet and deep that it made her head spin; she had to stop for them, to touch them and feel the silk of their skin against her own. She wanted to trace their outline in paper to keep forever. Clary would have marveled for hours if Madeleine hadn’t prodded her along, but it was the sky, even the air itself that Clary was truly taken with. The color was so blue and so different from the sky she lived underneath her whole life. It was amazing, how something that had always been there could suddenly be seen with new eyes. That was something that had been happening to her lately, but for once it was amazing. To see the clouds cast a shadow over the ground before being swept past by the wind to lie over another portion of the hills. To see the two shades of shadow and sunlight move consistently from place to place over the mountains and high above, where the sun resided in the heavens, its beams scattered about the grand panoramic scene before her. Clary’s breath was stolen by the breeze and it was too painful to regain, because the awe had frozen her in place, unwilling to let this go unseen and unrecorded in her sketchbook. Jealousy burst inside her; one day she would never see these sights again, that she would never enjoy what those not yet born would experience, but the feeling quickly passed at the idea that she was viewing what few did not. Clary couldn’t even properly describe what she was seeing and the momentary despair that she, as an artist or human being, wouldn’t be able to articulate the bigness of life that was doing what it did best: being. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Madeleine said.

It snapped Clary out of her thoughts, almost. “Y-yes.” She gasped.   
“I’ve never seen a sky that blue. I can see why Shadowhunters fight to keep it.”

“Yes and the demon towers of Alicante protect it.”

“The demon towers?”

“Yes. Made from adamas, which is our in our weapons. The reason they work is because only demon’s blood could deactivate them, but no demon will be able to get close to them without getting incinerated.” 

“I see.”

“It’s also what keeps downworlders or anyone really, from entering illegally.”

Clary nodded as Guinevere’s hooves stomped on the ground in agitation. A fierce wind suddenly picked up, chilling Clary and she put the hood to her cloak, glad that Madeleine told her to bring it. The two exchanged glances before Madeleine looked up. The sky had become leaden and intimidating. 

“That was pretty fast.” Clary said.

“I suppose I should have foreseen this. The weather can be unpredictable at times.”

“No big thing.”

“I’m sorry, but we need to get back before it gets worse.” Madeleine said. 

She had to fight her disappointment. Getting a feel for the landscape and finding the Wayland manor would just have to wait it seemed; from the slightly ominous look on Madeleine’s face it would have been an argument she would lose if Clary tried to persuade her otherwise. Besides, Clary had a feeling that it might have something to do with her; if it wasn’t already obvious enough that she didn’t have much skill in horseback riding, it would be now. The ride had already taxed her muscles, she hadn’t been this sore since she could remember. A poor rider and a potentially bad storm did not make for a good combination. 

Madeleine turned in the opposite direction, her sorrel mare moving easily with her. The same couldn’t be said of Clary, who flinched when Guinevere tossed her head with clear agitation. Grabbing the reins tight, Clary tried to twist Guinevere’s head to the left, to turn more around but she merely jerked back in response. Snorting, Guinevere began to move back. Clary was momentarily taken off guard by being jolted in the saddle. Madeleine twisted in her seat and seeing Clary, began to move towards her.

“Use your heels.”

The wind picked up, making any other words from Madeleine lost. Clary didn’t want to make Guinevere more spooked than she already was, but she did as Madeleine instructed; Clary wanted to comfort her steed, but she knew she couldn’t unclench her hands from the reins with the mare jostling more. Lightening rent the air and the sky was bright, then in quick succession, a razor like wind brought a sharp cracking that was closer than thunder. The smell of something burnt was faint on the air, but before she could react, the sound of something coming from above was hurling down but she couldn’t get Guinevere to move in time. A tree branch crashed at their feet, nearly hitting the mare in the face. 

Guinevere screamed a sound that made Clary shriek herself as her mount quickly reared back and almost unseated her. Madeleine kicked her horse’s sides as Guinevere plunged down. Thunder boomed and the ground shook as the thunder’s echo vibrated through Clary or maybe it was Guinevere’s hooves as she broke away from Madeleine and bolted. Clary’s shout was drowned out by the cry of the older woman. Clary turned her head to glimpse turn about to try and follow, but a jolt overcame Clary as the mare ran over uneven ground. 

The rain came down hard, tis drops pounding into her and blinding her. Another boom of thunder made her mare bellow in terror and the creature sped up, ignoring Clary, who lost her grip on the reins. The thin leather straps flapping in the wind, slapping the horse’s neck and Clary’s face; Guinevere galloped harder and Clary felt herself fly up a little and she screamed, slamming back onto the wet saddle. She gritted her teeth as he legs and ass rubbed and banged heavily against the saddle, she could feel the raw blisters already. She couldn’t see past the curtain of rain, her surroundings blurring past her as all she could do was wrap her arms around Guinevere’s strong neck and prey she wouldn’t get flung off. Someone was shouting across the wind, but Clary felt she couldn’t shout out words, but she had to try anyway.

“Help me!”

Surprisingly a voice answered back. “This way!”

Guinevere hit a rough patch of ground and Clary screamed. “I can’t!”  
Lightening flashed just as Clary opened her eyes. A figure had moved in their path, arms outstretched. As Guinevere kept her course, Clary shouted for the person to move. 

“Look out!”

Guinevere’s forelegs kicked the air and Clary waited to feel the impact that would come with one of those powerful legs hitting the person, but none came. What did come came as a surprise. A hand found the reins and tugged down hard. Surprised, Clary nearly fell off the saddle for a third time, but regained her balance and swayed in her shock, nerves shot. The mare jerked her head futilely as the hand that hand control over her began to sooth her. Guinevere was finally calm and still, and Clary was ready to get off this ride. Shakily she sat up; unclasping her arms and then tightly clasped the saddle’s horn. She slid her right foot out of the stirrup and slowly raising her leg over the mare. Her whole body was shaking and the effort of moving and keeping balance was difficult on her frayed nerves and aching muscles. Clary swayed, bringing her right leg over to the other side just as she tried to take her left foot out of the stirrup and she stumbled, tangling her feet together. Clary didn’t even have time to cry out as she began to fall. She braced for impact, but there was none. What she felt as she fell was warm and pliant. Clary dizzily realized that the person had caught her before she could hit the ground. 

‘Of course.’ She thought, ‘Shadowhunter reflexes.’ 

She glanced down and noticed the hands. Pianist slim, strong, and supple and the calluses familiar and comforting. Daring to hope, she spoke up.

“Jace?” 

She felt a small rumble of laughter from the masculine chest.

“Sorry, but you’ve mistaken me for someone else I’m afraid, but I’m more than happy to introduce myself.”

From the first sound he made she knew it wasn’t him. A voice very different from Jace’s. It was just as resonant, but more mellow. It was almost silky with sounding suspicious or making her shudder with disgust. A better way to put it was that it was rich and deep without intimidation. She could feel his voice in his chest and track its progress to his flat stomach. When he spoke, she trembled from the vibration. She was still disappointed, but wanted to see it the voice matched the face and looked up. 

It did. He had a delicate face, that could have been feminine in almost anyone else, but it just gave his masculinity a grace that most of his peers did not have. Maybe it was the strength in in his jaw or the high cheekbones. His skin was smooth, with a paleness that reminded her of pearls. It suited him as he did not look sickly, but lively, which was apparent not only in the strong beats of his heart, but by the intelligence in his dark eyes. They were the darkest eyes she had ever seen, not even Simon or Isabelle had such eyes. He was staring unabashedly at her, almost as much as she was of him. She was being studied too and she flushed, but unable to look away. He smiled at her and she was suddenly aware of how pink and plush his lips were and her flush deepened at their smile and her budding curiosity. Clary focused on his hair. The way it fell, so tumbling, almost female in its sensuality. He reminded her of a manga character, a regular bishonen. No, he reminded her of a character she made herself. A prince with a dark past, which meant he could never love a person because his curse killed anyone who came to love him. She had drawn pages and hours’ worth into making the perfect prince, but then she met Jace and the Lightwoods and her life turned upside down. 

“We should get out of the rain.” He said.

“A-ah right.” Clary nodded.

He set her down and as soon as she did, she realized that no one could mistake him for female. He was tall and broad shouldered his muscles lithe and thick, easily revealed by his wet clothes.

“There is a barn not too far from here that is dry enough.”

“Yeah ok.”

The trek to the barn did not take long as he led both Clary and her horse. It was just minutes before she saw it, Clary was amazed that it still stood. It was old, the wood warped and even burned in some places. There was a small hole in the roof and Clary wouldn’t be surprised if the thing would collapse at their feet, but he opened its door easily and shut it behind them just as easily. Bolting the doors shut, he turned to her. In the split second that he had done so, she felt a flash of nostalgia. It blindsided her as did his smile, as if he had been glad to meet her.

“Well, I’ve been rude to not introduce myself sooner. My name is Sebastian Verlac.”

“People call me Clary. Clary Fr-“A sudden dash of inspiration hit. Fray wasn’t a Shadowhunter name and he’d probably know if she was using a fake one as well. “Fairchild.” She finished. 

Sebastian, whose head had been tilted in askance, now straightened and his eyes lit up with both recognition and surprise. 

‘Oh crap.’

“Not the daughter of Jocelyn Fairchild? My family knew her when she was alive.”

Hope fluttered in Clary’s chest. Here was someone who might be able to tell her more of her mother’s past.

“Really?”

“Yes. My aunt always spoke fondly of her; apparently they went to school together.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They spent much time together. In fact, the Fairchild manor is not far from their old barn, but I imagine you knew that.”

“…No I didn’t.”

Sebastian gave her a curious look. “So you haven’t been there?”

Clary sucked in a breath, surprised by the sudden sense of loss. She looked around, noticing their surroundings finally. The only chill came from the hole in the roof and she rubbed her arms. On each side of them were stalls, three to each side and only one of them on the right hand side was intact. Sebastian’s horse was kept inside it. It was a beautiful creature, its coat just as dark and gleaming as Sebastian’s hair. The beast was taller than Guinevere, its muscles thicker and more easily seen. Clary shuddered at the sight. If her own mount was difficult to ride, then she could only imagine what Sebastian’s must be like. Clary saw Sebastian follow her gaze.

“His name is Emperor. Eighteen hands and of Arabian descent. Very difficult to train, but we’ve reached an understanding.” 

Sebastian went over and stroked his mount. Emperor stamped his big hooves. Shifting his weight, Clary could see the cause of the creature’s masculinity. She flushed and looked away, rubbing her arms. Turning back to her, Sebastian’s expression changed to concern. 

“I’m sorry you’re cold.” He rummaged around in the saddle bag at his feet.” Here, it’s not much but it’s clean. You can use it and let your clothes dry.”

Clary looked back at him with wide eyes and Sebastian smiled. 

“I won’t look, I promise.” 

He was still smiling as he put a hand over his eyes. Clary shook her head, but took a blanket from him all the same. She ducked behind a stall, passing Guinevere, who was tied to the pole next to her. The stall was only half a stall and the rafter above it had scratch marks, but felt sturdy enough. The stall only covered half of her body, so she ducked down. The stall, while not as pristine as Ragnor’s, was passably clean, still filled with sweet smelling hay. 

Clary unlaced her boots, taking off her cloak, gently squeezing the moisture from it and hanging it from the rafter. Then she pulled the clingy wrap from her arms, its thin material dark and soaking with water. Pushing her hair out of the way, she felt for the clasps that bound her bodice to her. Clary pushed her chest forward, trying to get it undone faster. When she got it, she took a deep breath, and felt the dress slip down her, dragged by the weight of the wetness of her skirts. She tugged down her tights and rung them out. The cool air hit her body almost deliciously and goosebumps erupted all over her skin, she looked down to see two hardened points on the front of her slip. Down to her slip, she hung the rest of her clothes up on the rafters and stared down at the blanket in her hand. It didn’t look like it would cover much, as she took off her slip, drying it as much as she could with the blanket before hanging it up and trying to dry herself. The blanket was scratchy, but she didn’t care and she rubbed vigorously all over herself. It didn’t take long and wrapping the towel around herself. She saw that it really didn’t cover much. She felt too exposed. It came barely mid-thigh. 

The storm’s breeze made the blanket ride high as she tried to keep it covering her breasts, and Clary snatched the slip back from the rafters, and thankful that its sheer material meant that it dried quickly. She put it back on, and then dried her hair with the blanket, felling the beginnings of it curling in the temperature. Clary ducked out of the stall and saw Sebastian sitting down, his back to her. He smiled as she handed him back the blanket, turning to take it from her. He folded it carefully and put it next to his horses’ stall before setting himself down onto the thick hay strewn about the ground. Clary sat down next to him, tugging her slip down as they sat in silence. It was a strange silence, comfortable but buzzing. The adrenaline was wearing off, her body too tired, so despite the situation, she lay down on her back. Sebastian shifted his weight in response, so that he was lying on his side, supporting his upper half by propping up his elbow and his hand resting in his hair. He was close in proximity, yet respectful. He looked at her with the kind of innocent curiosity that didn’t keep her from flushing. She had yet to figure out who he reminded her of and it was something that seemed to be intrinsic in him. Was that why she was so nervous?

“So is this your first time in Idris?”

Clary jumped. “I-is it that obvious?”

Sebastian gave her another warm smile. “Was it not meant to be?” he asked. 

“Kinda.” Clary changed tack. “Is this a part of the Fairchild place?”

Sebastian frowned. “Yes. If I had known…well it’s macabre, but unintentional I assure you.”

Clary fidgeted. “You see I-” she stopped. “Wait, macabre? Why do you say that?”

Sebastian looked at her with such concern that Clary’s foreboding was aroused. Sebastian used his free arm and let it hover over her midriff. It only brushed her body, but the contradictory sensations of dread and anticipation caused her heart to beat much too fast as she tried to sort out why she’d feel either. Sebastian’s expression was egging her curiosity on. 

“I guess you were raised in an institute like me.” He mused, his expression sobered as he looked at her. “Yes this stable belonged to the Fairchild’s’ we are on their land, only a few miles from their manor. Or, what’s left of it. The night of the Uprising, it was razed to the ground, its occupants still inside it and Jocelyn, was the sole survivor of this tragedy.” 

Clary swallowed hard, but Sebastian continued on.

“It has been said that it was the work of Valentine. Oh Clary, I am so sorry.” He leaned closer, but Clary couldn’t discern the expression, nor care to.

“Take me there.”

“Excuse me?”

“Please take me to the Fairchild manor.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
“Has the council reached a decision?” 

“Yes we have.”

“Then send in Jonathan Morgenstern.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
“I’m a little surprised you don’t know how to ride.”

“Well my friend didn’t really get to teach me, because me coming here was kinda last minute.”

“Oh?”

“Y-yeah.”

When the sunlight broke through the sky again, they were ready to leave. Clary’s clothes had dried up better than she expected, but they were still damp. As they were saddling up, Sebastian interrupted her at getting back on a horse by asking her a question.

“Not to be crude, but have you ever had sex?”

Clary, who had one foot in the stirrup and was about to pull herself up Guinevere, wobbled in shock.

“E-excuse me, what?” 

Sebastian at least had the decency to blush. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but some advice: to best gain balance when riding a horse, you have to move your hips as if you are making love. That way, you don’t have to hurt your back, since you are supposed to keep your back straight when riding a horse. Although it could be useful in other instances and it’s also supposed to maintain a rhythm with your horse, since you shouldn’t put all your weight onto it. Don’t forget to keep your knees bent either. In a way, riding a horse is a lot like make love. You have to work together to find a comfortable place. Ah, here, let me help you with that.” 

Sebastian put his hands on her thigh, brushing her hip bones and his hands seemed to tremble when they fingered the artificial flower at the edges of the bodice. Clary swallowed convulsively, but Sebastian’s hands moved quickly away, though his eyes did not.

“Pretty.” He said.

“I haven’t.” Clary replied. “Had sex I mean.”

“I see.” Was all Sebastian said.

It took them no time at all to get to the Fairchild manor. Clary could feel it before it before it came into sight. The burned remains were like the charred skeleton of some giant. They stood at what used to be the front door. Clary dismounted without a backward glance and walked inside the entryway. 

“I’m home.” She wanted to say. 

The scorch marks reached parts of the ceiling, because the part of the ceiling remained. It was obvious that it used to be a big place, full of life. 

‘My grandparents, mother…how many siblings did she have? How many would I have…?’ she thought.

Clary picked her way through her house, so much was burned beyond recognition, things piled high and crumbling. What used to be someone’s belongings decaying before her eyes, all the flotsam and jetsam of a human life left to rot. Although some things were miraculously left untouched, such as a cabinet and a picture frame, but it was the foundation that did it however, that brought tears to her eyes. This was a home, it used to hold loved ones, who probably fought, cried, laughed, and slept in this house. People who had dreams and stories, things no one would ever get to hear about again. One day this manor would crumble into nothing as surely as her family had done before. No house should outlive its family and no girl should outlive her family.

“I could have lived in this house.” Clary whispered. 

She brought up a hand to steady herself. If she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, she could picture the life of the house itself, protecting her family within its walls.

“Clary?”

She slowly turned, expecting not for the first time, to see Jace and finding only Sebastian. He was looking back at her expectantly and he moved forward.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

He sounded sorry, but Clary couldn’t figure out why. “Why?” her voice cracked. Suddenly she wiped at her face and the wetness startling her. “Oh.” 

“If I had known that it would upset you, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I-”

Sebastian moved closer.

“I just-” Clary started. 

“Yes?”

Their faces were inches apart, Sebastian’s eyes even darker than when she saw them last. That was what she looked at when he kissed her. His lips were firmer than she thought, applying pressure even in a chaste kiss. Clary shivered at the desire that was giving her chills. She wanted those pink lips to open, to go beyond the curtain. Sebastian did not pull away, so she leaned forward and feeling him do as she desired. It was as she imagined his tongue so deft that she gasped. She didn’t think he’d actually do it and then the pace changed, hungrier and actually painful. She didn’t care. Sebastian’s hands did not stay fixed on her shoulders, they snaked upwards, past the vulnerable neck, and into the fields of her hair and he tugged hard, almost angrily. She gasped the pain of her hair and he tugged hard, rapid and frantic. She gasped, the pain, continuous but slight. Sebastian pushed her into part of a wall, which felt more like a column. The motion sent shockwaves through her, legs aching and trembling almost uncontrollably as Sebastian pushed himself against her. Shock went through her as she felt the rigidity of his body. Instinctively she knew what it was, but her thought process still needed to voice it, witness it on some level before proceeding. Clary looked down and seeing the obvious bulge that was halfway obscured by the insistent way that Sebastian was pressing into her. She blinked in shock. Sebastian was hard.

It was like it had unlocked something inside her, seeing what was confirmed inside him, waiting to be revealed. Almost against her will, she lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist and feeling his hipbones jutting out. Sebastian stopped tugging at her hair and let his hands squeeze her breasts. Clary loved the feeling, a newfound excitedness building in her. The position she was in was uncomfortable and distracting as she tried to free an arm to brace against the wall, but Sebastian tugged and the two went tumbling down unto the dirt. 

Sebastian pulled himself on top of her, letting his weight rest on her, but Clary didn’t mind. The pressure was maddening and of their own accord her hips bucked out of control. Clary could feel the bulge of his pants brush her groin, sending shooting pins into her stomach. She moved faster, pressing into his groin, chasing the elusive sensation that was starting to build. A hand of Sebastian’s wandered down Clary’s skirts, playing with their folds as he tickled the insides of her knees and he moved up to her thighs until he reached the frill of her panties, snaking underneath them.

“A-ah-ah-haaaaah, oooh….”

Dimly, as if from far away, she heard Sebastian fumble with his belt buckle, the metal unclasping from leather. Sebastian sat up and Clary gasped. She could feel all of him, the shift from lying down to sitting up, and the power of what was going to happen finally hitting but, she could see where Sebastian’s hands were-they were tugging at the front of her bodice determinedly, almost savagely trying to rip the front, his knuckles digging into her breasts. She looked up at his face and gasped, almost recoiling in horror. When the sunlight hit his face, his eyes seemed to be entirely black, pitiless, and empty. It somehow made his familiar face appear sharper-as if his masculinity could cut her. It was garish, and it gave his face a sickly glow. The smile threw her, it was cold and leering. Its humor was genuine, and genuinely vicious. His smile had no warmth, but she could tell he was ginning through closed lips, and suddenly the lips opened, revealing teeth. The image of a monster emerging from a dark hidden place was so startling and true that she pulled back. He looked like he wanted to eat her, his smile growing so wide, it was just bared teeth. Sebastian was breathing quickly through his nose, loud as though a stereo had been unexpectedly turned on. He couldn’t contain himself no more than the malicious thrusting that did not pause as hers did. Just like that, the idea of something thick and squirming was not appealing, and Clary realized how painful his thrusts were, despite being sheltered and bound by clothes. She winced and that seemed the cue Sebastian took to stop. He looked down at her and she almost flinched when their eyes met. Sebastian still looked eerie from the sunlight. 

“Clary? What is it?”

“Stop.”

Sebastian looked hurt. 

“Please.” Clary tried to sit up.

Sebastian moved his hands away from her bodice and gripped her wrists. His grip was like iron, as he was still and immovable. Clary tried to push herself up but he hadn’t moved. His eyes burned, refusing to break eye contact, too blank to be malicious, but he was angry, very furious. Clary struggled harder, a budding panic inside her. She knew she had done something wrong, but couldn’t place it-all she realized was that she had missed something vital that unexplained itself as it appeared like a trap. It was like getting splashed in the face with cold water, or getting slapped. Some illusion was dispelled and she drew back in fear.

‘This can never happen again.’ She thought.

“I thought-” Sebastian said.

“I’m sorry.” Clary cut him off. “I’m sorry I can’t-I just…can’t. Please this is my home, my family-not here. Not anywhere. I’m sorry.” Clary swallowed. “Can you let me up please? You’re hurting me.”

“What?” Sebastian blinked as if he had been woken up from a dream. “Oh yes of course.” He looked at his hands, mildly horrified, as if they were strangers. “I’m so terribly sorry, are you alright?”

He pulled himself off her and helped her back to her feet. He shifted her clothing back into place with deft hands before doing so with himself. She averted her eyes as he buckled his pants back up, repressing a gasp at the sound of a zipper moving up. When he looked back at her with concern and puzzlement that she thought his monstrous expression was just a trick of the light, but she couldn’t shake the feeling it gave her. 

“I’m sorry I frightened you. What do you need me to do?”

‘Go away.’ She thought.

Another thought came to her unbidden. 

“What I really need to do is go to the Wayland manor.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose to ridiculous height. “Wayland manor? What for, everyone who ever lived there is dead, unless that is what you came to see.” Sebastian paused, and then continued. “Besides, even if we did go there, you’d need a Wayland to let you in. The wards that keep intruders out still work, so-” 

“So I’ll go into Alicante.”

“To ask the clave?”

Clary jumped. “What? No, no I have a friend.”

“Who is a Wayland?”

“Well kinda, he was adopted, but-”

“But…?” he prompted. 

“He left without me and I don’t know why.”

“You don’t know if he’ll help, do you?” Sebastian said.

Clary shrugged, hoping it would hide how cutting the remark was. “Something like that.”

Sebastian seemed to be trying to puzzle something out. “So if your friend who probably isn’t a Wayland help, without going to the clave-” his eyes widened. 

Clary bit the bullet. “Yes. I am not supposed to be here.”

“You said coming here was last minute.” He stated. 

“Yes. I wouldn’t be here if my mom wasn’t in trouble.”

“Jocelyn?”

“Yes. I wasn’t lying about that. Jocelyn Fairchild is my mother, and-” she choked. “She’s dying. I know it and I know there is a way to save her. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I have to go to Idris and see Jace-”

If Sebastian didn’t look shocked before, he did now. “Jace.” He said. “You mean Jonathan Morgenstern…”

Clary’s blood turned to ice. “How did you…”

“My cousin and her family have been allies with the Lightwoods for years.” Sebastian shook his head, “but Jace is standing trial in the Gard as we speak. There is no way that-”

“Standing trial?! Gard?! What’s going on?” she cried, grabbing Sebastian’s shoulders..

“Woah, Clary calm down.” He gently pried her fingers loose. “Jace is standing trial because of his actions during the raid on Valentine’s ship and the subsequent battle. Last that I had heard, it was hotly debated, and every active shadowhunter has been called to Idris because of Valentine. Did you know that?”

“No.” Clary breathed.

“Yes.” Sebastian continued. “Clary, most important fight of all is coming. It’s coming here, so of course we are gathering to prepare.”

“I see.”

“So what would you have me do?” he asked again. 

“We have to get to Jace, and we have to hurry.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
Alec’s footsteps were heavy, almost sending him crashing to the ground. He walked over to Jace, his parabatai; although that wasn’t quite correct, they were more than that, which is why Alec flinched when he looked down to see Jace’s shackled hands. 

‘Again. This again.’

“So you heard?” Jace said.

“Of course. Jace I-”

Jace grimaced. “Save it. If you came here to say I told you so…”

Alec blanched and Jace must have seen it, for his expression softened, but Alec continued. 

“I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, I wish this didn’t happen, and most of all I wish I trusted you, because I’ll never stop hating myself for not trusting you.”

Jace cut him off. “No it’s good that you don’t. I don’t blame you. I know why you don’t. I hurt you, which is all I seem to be able to do. No matter how hard I try, I just hurt the people I care about, when I’d rather hurt myself.” 

“Jace…”

“Really. I’m sorry for being such a lousy brother.”

“You’re not. Really, Jace you are-” Alec shook his head. “Impossible.”

The ghost of an old, familiar grin crept up on Jace’s face as if it took him by surprise. “I know.”

To Alec, it was as though for a moment, nothing had happened and everything was normal. Longing rose so unexpectedly sharp that it brought tears to his eyes. So he bent down to the chains that connected Jace to his shackles, and pulled. They broke, clattering to the floor and when Alec looked up a Jace, the other boy was staring back at him in shock. 

“Alec what did you do?”

“Hey, what are parabatai for?”   
__________________________________________________________________  
“There is a way to sneak in, should be easier actually. Since nephilim from all around the world are coming. There are bound to be those who don’t know their way around.”

“Ok.”

“Just keep your hood on.”

Sebastian spoke those words the moment before they slipped past the high columns of adamas that glittered in the afternoon sun. Her ears popped from the pressure of walking in between them. Other than that, there was nothing to give them away, no blaring alarms or suspicious guards. 

“We have to hurry. Where’s this Gard?”

“Follow me.”

Alicante was nothing like she’d seen. The narrow twisting streets were full of secret niches and entryways. Clary was reminded of movies about Italy, with the cobblestone streets and canals. On horseback, it was like stepping back in time to see shops that had wide windows and smooth wooden structures. She gaped at the clothes on display in one of the windows. There were certain dress that could only belong in a costume shop, movie set, or a museum. They went all the way down to present day dress, even from places that Clary had only ever heard of. She turned away to look at the rest of her surroundings. 

There were lamp posts that were wreathed in witchlight stone; Clary noticed that many places were covered in the stuff. Runes were carved in doors and signs, and there were shops that sold sweets next to shops that sold daggers. It was so strange that it made her long for the familiar comforts of New York City. However she knew if she had the time, she gladly explore Alicante. She followed Sebastian, who was going through a narrow street. Clary’s horse snorted, and remembering to stay calm for her, patted her neck. She tried to keep up as best as she could and was relieved when Sebastian veered down another street. Clary hurried to Sebastian as they went down a near deserted pathway lit by witchlight stones. Two figures were ahead of them and as Clary peered harder, she saw that one was Alec, which meant that the other had to be…

“Jace!”

Both Alec and the other jumped. When they turned, it most definitely Jace. His golden hair caught the light, giving him a halo, and Clary’s heart leapt out of her chest. Jace was right there, standing and breathing, his mouth opening in shock but before he could speak, Alec shouted. 

“Run!’ 

It took Clary a moment to realize he was speaking to Jace. With a nod, Jace bolted and Sebastian swerved out of the way. Jace shouted in alarm and anger as Sebastian swung forward, scooping him up and onto his horse. Alec, pulling out a seraph blade. Before he could name it, Clary stepped in front of him, tilting her head so the witchlight hit her face. Alec pulled up short, staring at her in shock.

“You.”

Clary nodded. The two stared at one another, not speaking. It felt like ages, as though their silent sentences took so long to reach each other. 

“Yes, you can trust me with him. He is in good hands.”

“I know, but it he is still my brother. Be gentle.”

“Of course.”

Alec smiled, soft and bright, and he stepped aside. Clary nodded and kicked her heels, taking off after Sebastian and Jace. They didn’t get too far. Jace was putting up a good struggle and Clary shook off the smidge of pride as Jace hit Sebastian, but she still had to stop them. 

“Hey.”

Both looked back at her and Clary pulled down her hood. She watched avidly as Jace’s expression changed from irritation at Sebastian to staring at her in undisguised shock. Color drained from his face, horror morphing to anger and a cold self-deprecation by his grimace.

“Of course. Of course you came.”

Clary pulled up to the boys. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I was hoping you wouldn’t be so stupid or so stubborn, but of course you didn’t listen to me. What the hell are you doing here?” he rounded on Sebastian. “And you-stupid enough to go along with her.”

“Apparently.” Sebastian intoned. “From what I understand, Clary it looks like your doubts were right.”

“Doubts?” Jace turned to Clary.

“That you didn’t want me to come.”

“Damn straight I didn’t.” Jace managed to sound breathless and snappy simultaneously. Blood drained out of his face and Clary felt faintly sick.

“Hey-” Sebastian protested. 

Jace swiveled back to him. “And what the hell are you doing here with her?” 

Before Sebastian could respond, Clary said. “Because he’s helping me. You know, for my mother. I know she doesn’t me much to you, but she means the world to me.” Jace winced, but Clary continued. “If you don’t want me around, fine. I just need your help with one thing. One thing then I’m gone.” Not hearing a response for Jace, she continued. “I need to get inside the Wayland manor-for Ragnor, he says what’s in there can save my mother.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Jace snapped.

“It’s the truth.” Clary said. “I need you.”

Jace swallowed hard, and then to Sebastian he said, “Alright, stud I can take it from here.”

“But-”

“Thank you.” Clary said. “Both you, but Sebastian its ok, we’ll go on ahead.” 

For a split second, Clary could have sworn she saw the monstrous expression she saw at the ruins of her would be home, but it passed too quickly to be sure. 

“Look Sebastian, if you really want to help, go find Alec, help him out.” Jace said.

Sebastian looked to Clary, as if asking for permission and she saw Jace make a face.

“Yes. That would be nice.”

“Ok then. Be careful Clary.”

“You too.”

Sebastian dismounted. “Here. Take Emperor with you. Good luck.”

With that, he turned back the way he came, walking back to Alec, and Clary turned to Jace. 

“Ready to go?”

Jace huffed. He adjusted himself so that he could ride properly and Sebastian’s advice about horseback riding popped into her head and she blushed. Jace caught her staring. 

“What?” he asked.

Clary shook her head. “Nothing.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
The two figures were still across from one another, the light from the hole in the ceiling of the cave lighting them up perfectly. Valentine looked upwards. As if he could see the inner workings of the heavens if he squinted hard enough. The one across from him, much different from him, in his flannel shirt and worn jeans was Lucifer. It was quiet between the two, but it was apparent they were both thinking. Valentine’s face impassive, Lucifer’s amused. 

“I’ve decided.” Valentine said. “Are there any formal words? Incantations?"

Lucifer chuckled. “Nope. Just one little word.”

“I see.” Valentine nodded. “Alright then, after all, you present an impressive argument. I find no fault in it, and you say that I will still have my senses? I’ll be aware as it were?”

“Of course. This will not affect your plans in any way, rather it will make them easier to carry out.”

“I see. Yes, I consent. I say yes.”

Lucifer smiled slow as sap. “You’ve done the right thing.”

Lucifer came towards Valentine with his fingers steepled together like a benevolent priest, and then reached out, putting a hand on Valentine’s shoulder and another on his head. It was almost like a caress and Valentine took a deep breath relaxed but energized. Almost proud. Lucifer kept his eyes open and for a moment they began to shine, as if backlit by a spotlight. Valentine tried to stare back at them for as long as he dared before closing his eyes. The light became intense, filling the cave and freezing the air. An intense buzzing started up and began to rise. It ended as quickly as it came and the light that could be seen for miles dissipated. Valentine’s eyes fluttered open just in time to see Lucifer’s old body fall to the floor with a thud. Valentine or rather, Lucifer looked at his new body with satisfaction and he exhaled, laughing to himself.

“Plans huh? Well then, let’s get this party started.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
The ride to the Wayland manor was difficult, but not because of the terrain.

“So who taught you to ride?” Jace asked.

Clary banished the sudden flash of Sebastian from her mind. “Madeleine.”

“Madeleine Bellefleur?”

“Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” So Clary ended up telling Jace all of what Ragnor had told her, what had happened, leaving out only what had taken place between her and Sebastian at the Fairchild manor.

“So this book…I think I’ve seen it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s in a cookbook.” Jace suddenly laughed. “Imagine one of the most powerful books of all time, hidden in a book for housewives. Jocelyn had guts.” He whistled.

“Has.”

“What?”

“Has guts.”

“Right.”

It didn’t take long after that to see the Wayland manor. It had a sense of something that had gotten left behind, of coldness. Jace dismounted, helping Clary off her horse. She stared at Jace, watching him stare at the manor, his posture stiff. Somehow seeing him against the expanse of the dark sky and the sweeping fields of grass, he appeared formidable. Clary reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. Jace didn’t look at her, but seemed to relax for a moment before walking inside. Clary followed suit.   
The inside was colder then she anticipated, but it was more than just chilly air. It was the feeling of neglect, a sterile despair that no amount of sunshine could banish. However, Clary felt the pull of this place. She was only halfway listening to Jace. There was something here…

“Hey. We’re at the library.” 

Even the library had a disused feel to it, coated in dust, in the cold. The shelves reached all the way to the painted ceiling of angry angels. There were the rolling ladders that were fixed to the shelves. There was a single writing desk, its color obscured by the dust. Behind it a large window had a ledge for a reader to perch on, old tattered pillows still lying on the bench, their designs forever faded. As was the carpet they stood on. It had the familiar motif of the angel rising out of the lake, carrying a cup and a sword. At the sight, Clary felt a tugging that started from her feet and travelled up her body, making her dizzy.

“Oh nice.”

Jace stared at her with sharp eyes, but as she examined a book, what he said next took her by surprise. 

“Question. Were you that desperate for help that you accepted it from Sebastian?”

“What, you jealous?” she snapped.

“No.” he shot back.

“What’s so bad about Sebastian anyway?”

“He’s creepy.”

“No arguments there.” Clary shuddered, the reaction genuine enough to satisfy Jace.

“I remember coming in here. I had to read at least ten books a month and when I was finished, they had to be put back where I found them, or…well he wouldn’t be happy.”

Clary pictured it, a somber boy alone in a cold room, unable to go outside. A boy whose only companion had been a bird, who never been left with bruises on the face, and got his true name at the age of ten. This was the result. A tall boy…man with a seriousness that came from more than just being a shadowhunter. Someone who hid a great part of themselves, the part that made them so great in the first place. Hardly anyone could see it, but then, Clary wanted to see every part of Jace. Each new layer sounding like an exciting adventure, but would she be able to?

There was sadness behind his eyes, trying to hide it. He shouldn’t from her, so to banish it, she pulled a book from the shelf, letting it drop to the floor. Jace looked up in surprise, eyes going to and from the book to Clary.

“Clary…

“What?” Clary pulled down another book. “He’s not here now is he?”

“Hm.”

Jace pulled a book from the shelf. Its title in gold embossed letters. ‘The 17th century methods of exorcism in Eastern Europe.’. He held it for a moment, eyes unreadable before he shrugged and tossed the book over his shoulder. 

“That’s it.” Clary laughed. 

Jace began to hurl books off the shelves left and right, laughing mad, almost desperate as his cries began to sound less and less like laughter. When one book flew wildly, nearly hitting her in the face, she jumped. Clary suppressed a whimper at the sight of Jace frantically digging out the books, not caring if he hit himself in the process. Books littered his feet like corpses, their fluttering pages drowned out the fast paced breathing of Jace. Clary went to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He started violently, but she didn’t remove her hand and Jace’s breathing slowed. His golden eyes glimmered, the budding starlight behind him lighting him up like an angel. For a split second he looked as if he would burst into tears.

“Clary…”

“What happened?”

“I…”

Jace turned away, averting his gaze as if burned. Clary waited for him to speak, but then his expression changed, full of recognition. 

“Got it.”

Jace pulled a book out from the far back of the shelf. Its title in a simple, bold lettering: ‘100 simple recipes for housewives.’ 

“Gotcha!”

Jace grinned at her, waving the book triumphantly. Clary scooted closer to him as he opened it. To Clary the ground was shaking, almost screeching. She winced. Looking back at Jace, seeing her expression mirrored on his face, and she realized she wasn’t imagining the shaking.

“Jace?”

“Stay calm.”

The thick sound of scraping stone over stone was overpowering, but to Clary there was something speaking. Clary’s eyes fluttered. If she thought Sebastian was familiar, this feeling was stronger, genuine. She knew her heart ached to respond to it. The stone wall slid back to reveal a staircase that wound down, but to where Clary couldn’t see.

“Huh.”

Clary turned back to Jace, who shrugged.

“This place is full of surprises. I haven’t seen this one though.”

“We should go down there.”

“Want to check it out?”

They said it in unison. Clary giggled a bit and Jace just raised an eyebrow. It was an expression that looked so much like his old self that she was cheered immediately. Slapping the cookbook with one hand, Jace led the way down the stairs. As they got closer to the darkness, Clary gripped the edge of Jace’s sleeve and he pulled out a witchstone and lighted it. It sprung to life in his palm, sending scattering beams onto ancient stones as they descended in a spiral. Clary was reminded of watching movies where characters had to walk down the dungeons staircase. She shuddered.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

He wordlessly handed her his jacket, which she put on with a murmur of thanks. Clary watched where she stepped; the stairs were slippery with moss and she could feel their chill in her boots, which had trouble gripping the uneven stones beneath her. However a stench was becoming more apparent the farther they went down. Clary put a hand to her nose and mouth. She watched Jace, who had not reacted to the smell; his shadowhunter senses were up. They finally reached the bottom; the dark of the room was unsettling. It was as if she had spoken aloud as Jace squeezed the stone harder, giving more light the room.   
Now Clary knew why the place smelled, but it didn’t prepare her for what she was seeing. It really was a dungeon. There were cages everywhere, stacked high on the right hand side, filled with half rotted corpses of downworlders. Fairies struck through with iron, their faces burned beyond recognition. Vampires with their fangs pulled out, blood still crusting at the gums. A knurled warlock with horns that had been ground down to stumps. Clary thought of Ragnor and fought the urge to be sick. Jace moved closer to the cages, his fingers brushing the tags that were attached to the cages.

“Look- Valentine kept notes on what he did to them.” He growled, disgust making him spit out the words. “Trying to figure out what made them tick. What he could do with their body parts.” 

Clary shuddered, unable to look at the cages anymore. Her temples, her arm suddenly burning. She went over to the workbench. There were tools, probably what Valentine used to torture the downworlders in the cages. There were vials filled with liquid, some powder, and others were body parts in larger jars. Each one was labeled in Valentine’s elegant script. They said things such as: ‘Vampire teeth. Mature female.’, ‘Warlock’s blood, healthy.’, and ‘Silver powder.’ She couldn’t touch them, so she moved on to the stacks of notebooks. Knowing Valentine, this was probably very organized at some point, but that it had been in disarray long since then. She had the feeling that he hadn’t been bothered to come down here in years. One notebook caught her eye.

‘Thoughts on my son Jonathan.’

She opened it, flipping to a random page and began to read.

‘Jonathan’s skills are growing and I look forward to the progress I know he will continue to make. There is one thing that disturbs me. The gift I gave him has become too attached to him. Jonathan must learn the lesson of domination; I hope that it will not be a lesson that needs to be repeated.’

Clary swallowed down the disgust, closing the book, not wanting to know more.

“I remember that book.”

Clary jumped. Jace had come up behind her, and he looking at the book with a sad smile. 

“I found it in the library once. He was pretty upset when he saw me reading it. I never made the mistake of reading something without his permission all the same.”

Clary winced. “Monster.”

Jace shrugged and took the book from her, flipped it open and began to read. Clary watched him smile; it wasn’t a happy one but one of remembrance, of refusing to be bitter. 

‘Is this what it feels like to be proud of someone?’ she thought, ‘Is that what this feeling is?’

Clary shook herself, reaching for another book and again it had a title that made her forget to breathe. The notebook’s only lettering on the cover was all it said.

‘Jocelyn Morgenstern.’

Clary snatched it up and began to read.

‘August 19th. Have the proper ingredients for the ritual. Must work quickly, as Jocelyn is already pregnant.’

‘August 24th. Summoned her, a demon calling herself Lilith. I was successful in obtaining her blood. I was even given instructions on how to best utilize it.’

‘September 1st. administered the potion to Jocelyn. No ill effects apparent. She is healthy, as is our child. Have to think up a name for him. For I know I have a son.’

‘September 10th. Experiments with the downworlders. Tried to administer demon blood to them. It seems that even with their stained ancestry, the blood is toxic to them. Yet, we can tolerate it with no ill effects. Is it because of our nephilim blood? Will increase the dosage in Jocelyn for sure.’

“Jace.”

At the sound of her voice, he turned and seeing her expression, frowned.   
“What is it?”

“Read this.”

Jace sat down the notebook he was looking at and began to read over her shoulder. His breath hitched and Clary could feel him stiffen, but she couldn’t respond to him, hypnotized by the words in Valentine’s journal. Together they began to read on.

‘September 25th. Still no ill effects seen in Jocelyn. However, she tells me she is having vivid nightmares. Nothing to be concerned about, but I’ll send for a physician. This is the most important work I’ve ever done. Post Script, stock up on more silver powder.’

‘November 15th. Lucien Greymark is no longer my parabatai. He has become tainted and I should have killed him, but Angel forgive me, I did not have the strength to. Told Jocelyn about his ‘death’. She became hysterical, then refused to eat. Perhaps a new method is needed.’

‘November 30th. Experiments failing. I have been studying one method, but do I have the means? Creating the most powerful shadowhunter is my life’s work. I mustn’t fail. Post Script. Hodge Starkweather has told me that Celine Herondale is expecting a child.’

Feeling sick, Clary skipped down to October. 

‘October 15th. I have found it. The ritual necessary to bind an angel. It will take time, but I have the method.’

‘October 17th. I have done it! The Angel is bound to this house. I must thank Wayland for his sacrifices in the name of Goodness, as well as this deception. To those fools in the Clave, I have succeeded in gaining the Angel’s blood-’

Clary and Jace looked back up at each other in shock, his face looking as pale as Clary imagined hers to be. She then pressed on.

‘-it is a beautiful color. Not red, but gold. A theory would be that because it does not have a true corporeal body, yet I can look upon the Angel and feel no pain. I must be chosen. Tested the blood on myself. First ingested then injected. Experienced an overwhelming euphoria and my physical strength was greatly enhanced. Now that I have a large supply, more tests can be run.’

Clary frowned, skimming through the entries until she hit December.

‘December 24th. Tried to converse with the Angel, Ithuriel. Stubborn creature. It does not want to see reason, yet it cannot leave the circle it is bound in. Strangely seems to be growing weaker. Experimented with the blood to be sure. Speaking of experiments, gave the new mixture to Celine Herondale. She appears to be healthy. Both she and Jocelyn are nearing their time. The age of the new shadowhunters is coming soon.’

Clary skimmed again, down until one entry caught her eye.

‘May 3rd. It’s a boy. He will be called Jonathan, after the first   
shadowhunter, and he’ll be the inspiration for generations to come.’

‘May 15th. Jocelyn is experiencing depression. She claims that something is wrong with Jonathan. She refuses to nurse him. Administered angel blood to her, hidden in drink. Perhaps more experimentation is needed. I must get Jocelyn pregnant again. Will try tonight.’

‘May 30th. Our uprising draws near. Must prepare, probable last night here.’

But there were more entries beneath this date.

‘Hodge has informed me: Celine Herondale has taken her life. Immediate steps taken to salvage experimentation. Everything must be moved-

Clary made to snap the book shut but Jace stopped her. 

“Look at the dates.” He whispered. “How is that possible?”

“He lied about a lot of things, hell, that’s not the worst that he’s done. It’s obvious we were experiments to him. He even did it to other people’s children!”

“Ok.” Jace swallowed. 

For a moment, she thought he would break down, but when he spoke next, she was filled with horror. 

“Wait, these parts about the angel-where is it? The angel I mean?”

“I don’t-wait what?”

Clary’s breath came out in sharp gasps. She turned her head to the space that she neglected to see, so distracted by everything else that she paid no attention to the floor. Now she did. It was littered with bones, their fading colors contrasting sharply to what was on the floor. A large circle was drawn, one she had just seen, drawn in Valentine’s journal. Its symbols more powerful and vivid then runes, but somehow much more familiar. The circle wasn’t a pentagram, the design much older, the lines bold and thick. Colored red, probably blood-it was still bright, despite its age. It was crusted thick, almost crystallized. Its power so overwhelming that she couldn’t step away, but strangely enough, she didn’t want to. It was drawing her closer. Clary reached for the fabric that rested in a lump in the middle of the circle, her fingers stretching for it before she doubled over.

“Clary!”

Jace was at her side and pulling back the cloth with a vicious motion. He dropped it, the witchlight stone clattering to the ground and scattering the light. Clary’s chest heaved, body spasming in pain. She couldn’t see Jace, but she heard him dry heave on the ground. Clary picked up the witchlight stone, staring as it revealed Jace, who was gaunt and sharp, all the angles in his face cutting into his skin. He was pale, almost whitewashed in grief and horror. His eyes were too wide, the gold in them making him look like a wounded animal. He panted lips slick with spittle and sick. He seemed feverish and he wiped his mouth and stood up. Clary moved the light to stare at what they feared was still in the circle.

It was an angel.

She knew it. It looked nothing like Castiel, who was definitely flesh, in the world, inhabiting a human body. This one’s otherworldliness showed through. She wasn’t sure how she could see it without a human body for it to inhabit. That she could see it, see it for what it was without experiencing pain wasn’t what overwhelmed her. It was the state of the being.   
It was bound, as surely as and more securely than any man made chains could hold it. It could barely lift its head, let alone move. It was in excruciating pain, and it was obvious, and not from expression alone because she felt like she was hurting too. There were scars running all over the length of its body, the thickest ones at the base of its wings, which were mangled almost beyond recognition, the feathers stained with blood. Its eyes were gouged out, pits that dug into the face, gore still splattered and rusting over. Clary choked back a sob, unable to look at the angel any longer. She stared back down at the binding circle. The complexity of what she was seeing made her head swim. The gist of it was to trap the angel and weaken it to the point that it would not be able to leave or live. The only thing she could make out clearly was the name.

“Ithuriel.”

Ithuriel opened its mouth and the sound was nothing that Clary had ever heard before. It was beautiful and terrible. Clary trembled, overwhelmed by the way the voice made her shake. She clutched her ears, but it didn’t stop the eerie sonic song from penetrating and she collapsed to the ground, the only thing separating her from Ithuriel was the circle. The spasms agonized her body and Jace was shouting, but she could barely hear her name before being swallowed up in sensation. It was as though a huge hand was pushing something inside her skull, electrocuting her with its power that was trying to reach her. Clary cried out in longing. As quick as it came, the pain faded, the screech moving to a dull whine, but there was more to it, whispers behind it. She concentrated hard, hearing the whispers pull themselves to her; it felt like longing, as much as she did. 

“Can you hear my voice?”

It was close to her, almost as though it was her own thoughts.

“Yes, but not quite.”

Clary spoke aloud. “Are we able to speak this way?”

“Yes. However, it is tiring. All is tiring.”

“Clary?”

She jumped, forgetting that Jace was there. He was staring at her in shock. 

“Y-you’re talking with him?”

“Yes, but he’s tired.”

“I must show you both this. So that history doesn’t repeat itself.”

Clary squeezed Jace’s hand and nodded. Ithuriel once again began to sing, but instead of pain, pictures formed as if being painted directly in her mind, as crisp as a scene from a movie. She was there, as if it were her own experience. Clary found herself staring at a younger version of her mother. She was beautiful and staring up at a young man with silver hair, his look of adoration matching hers. They held each other tight, the only thing coming in between her mother and Valentine was the swell of her mother’s belly.   
Clary was standing in a field surrounded by forest. The moon was hung in the sky, illuminating the ground. The grass was charred; a complex pentagram had been burned into the ground and at the foot of the top of the point stood a younger Valentine. His confidant stance belied the cool, terrible strength he possessed. He paid no attention to her; he was busy staring at what he caught in the center of the pentagram. A monstrous she-creature with pit less eyes that framed an otherwise human face, save for the mouth. A gaping maw with rotted projectiles. Her back was hunched, the knobs of the spine visible, back so pale and bruised that the flesh was purple with rot. Somehow she retained a sense of beauty. Not because of what she was physically but because she seemed to shift. Monstrous and sensuous all at once. Tentacle like appendages shimmered inside the circle, glimmering with some kind of secretion. She straightened her back with a snap, showing her translucent skin and tool long fingers, cracking them as she waggled them at Valentine. He allowed himself a small smile.

“What are you called?”

“You do not know?” she taunted. “We have no true names, so we take them after His creations, since He had not seen fit to consider us equals, as he had no hand in our making. Well, why have you summoned me, shadowhunter?” 

Her voice grated on Clary; the pinchers in the whole of her mouth rubbed together wetly. 

“I have come for something of yours. Blood.”

“Blood?”

“Yes, I will create the greatest shadowhunter ever produced.”  
The creature laughed high and cold. “Everyone believes their species to be the greatest. Yet, you have come to the right species so to speak. We were here first. Before He made mankind and His angels, and even those murderous, devouring creatures before the angels.” 

Valentine started. 

“So you want my blood do you? For yourself?”

“No. My son. He will be my Adam-” 

“What will become of us? I would like compensation for this.” 

“Of course, what would you like?”

“To be free to roam the Earth, do that for me.”

“First your blood.”

“…Fair enough.”

Valentine tossed her a dagger; it hit the grass with a soft thud, landing at the slim feet of the creature. As she bent down, Valentine tossed her a cup. With a hiss she picked it up as well before straightening. She ran the length of the blade across her arm, dragging it hard and letting the blood spill out of her. It was either a dark red or black as it splashed into the cup. 

“Word of warning. The more your son will consume, the more inhuman he will become.” She pushed the cup to him.

“I understand.”

“Remember your promise to me shadowhunter.”

The scene shifted again, another one of Valentine, youthful and eyes brimming over with confidence. He stood in his makeshift laboratory, a book open in his hand. He was chanting, the language sending shivers through Clary. It was one she had never heard before. Not Latin, Greek, or Sanskrit. Something far more ancient, more powerful. There was a bright light before revealing who or what had been summoned. The room shook like an earthquake, the sound of Ithuriel’s voice filling the room. Valentine cried out, clutching his head as Ithuriel slammed into circle with a thunderous crack. The witchlight stones flickered and cracked. Ithuriel could not stand but raised a pair of blinding wings. Valentine looked down at Ithuriel, awe all over his face. 

“Ithuriel. I am Valentine Morgenstern and now you belong to me.” 

Clary shuddered as the memory changed. It was the same place, the only thing different was Valentine. He had aged, a bit more like the Valentine of the present. There were lines on his face and agitation in his expression. 

“I will not ask you again. Why were we not given the full gifts of the angels or at least the powers the downworlders possess? The strength, the speed, magic, even immortality! We have been fighting a war that is our birthright, is it not right to have the same things?”

Ithuriel said noting, staring back at Valentine. 

“Fine.” He growled, pulled out a knife. “You will be of use to me.”

Valentine slashed the knife down on Ithuriel, and a blue-ish light appeared where he cut as gold poured out amid a sudden shriek of pain.   
Again, the memory changed. This time it was Jocelyn. She was no longer pregnant, but she appeared exhausted. Her normally vibrant hair was tangled and dull. She moved forward, arms outstretched. A wild look in her eyes as she gesticulated.

“He tried to kill Lucien I know it! He’s made my baby a monster. I don’t know how he’s done it, but when I look at Jonathan, I don’t see my son. I see a thing and he’ll keep doing it! Please, you have to help me Ragnor.”

Clary didn’t see or hear Ragnor’s response because something else, that wasn’t a memory, flashed in front of her eyes. An image of great power, of electrified lines crisscrossing and knotting together. Each line was vital to the other; a simple but not as each one became interchangeable before revealing their separateness. A rune. The image burned into her skull, but it fast faded. Clary blinked. They were back in the basement before Ithuriel. Beside her Jace shook uncontrollably. She didn’t blame him as her body was doing the same thing. 

“Now you understand why this mustn’t happen again.”

“Yes.” Clary sighed. “Oh Ithuriel.”

Jace and Ithuriel locked eyes on each other, not speaking. Jace heaving with sadness and he nodded once. Jace pulled out a seraph blade, holding it to his lips.

“Ithuriel.” He whispered.

The blade came to, buzzing with life and bright in the proximity of its angel’s namesake. Ithuriel’s wings rustled in response and Clary felt a pulse of joy at the action.

‘There’s life in you yet.’ She thought. 

Jace scratched the circle with the blade, breaking it and Ithuriel slumped in relief. The angel’s hand reached for the blade and as Jace began to hand it over, she realized what the angel meant to do. 

“No wait.” 

Both paused. 

“You can’t. You’re special.” She said.

“The same thing could be could be said about you Clarissa Morgenstern. You are my vessel.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You are the one I am bonded to, that I am truly compatible with whenever I would interact on Earth without harming anyone.”

“So what you’re saying is…I could help you?”

“…Yes, but that would mean that I would inhabit your body. Although in my current state, my grace most likely wouldn’t overwhelm you.”

“So I would still be myself?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Are you suggesting that you consent?” Ithuriel paused before continuing. “Life will not be the same; you truly will have to fight-”

“Doesn’t that go double for you?”

Ithuriel seemed to give the impression of laughter. “I suppose so, though I don’t know how much help I’ll be in this state.”

“You’ll do fine.”

Jace looked back and forth between them, concern etched on his face, and Clary realized that he couldn’t understand what Ithuriel was saying. 

“Clary. What are you doing?” 

She smiled. “Helping a friend.” She turned to Ithuriel and said, “Alright I consent. Yes.” 

Ithuriel smiled. The room began to light up, buzzing like a generator come to life. Clary closed her eyes, the sensation of being filled up, so hot that she shivered. The energy, the grace swelled around her and electrocuting her veins. She gasped; the pain was still there, but far more remote than thought possible. Like riding on the back of a dragon. She screamed as her back exploded, flooded by grace. Ithuriel’s wings burst out of her, cracking the walls surrounding them. Images, feelings, and sensations crammed into her as the knowledge of a millennium age being bore down into her. Ithuriel was already inside her, a fireball soaking into her skin, lying in her, rumbling with power. 

The light faded and Clary slumped down, drained. Jace gripped her shoulders and she had to concentrate to hear his voice. Her own voice was still loud in her mind, she realized with relief. Ithuriel was right, she was still in control.

“Clary, are you alright. Dammit, talk to me!”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit dizzy so-”

The ground began to shake again, with deep ear splitting cracks of stone coming loose. 

‘The foundation.’ She thought.

“Go!” Jace shouted. 

The cages fell at Clary’s feet and the corpse of a vampire tumbled around her ankles, one glassy eye staring up at her. She shrieked, leaping up and overtaking Jace as they ran. They raced up the stairs that were crumbling behind them as the foundation shook. Clary stepped forward, and feeling nothing beneath her feet, screamed. Jace grabbed her hand and threw her forwards. She shot out, feet skimming the remainder of the stairs and tumbled out of the passageway and onto the carpet of the library. 

“Jace.”

Jace leapt out just as the passageway itself collapsed, but he didn’t look back.

“Why’s this happening?” Clary shouted.

“My guess? A spell, something that tied Ithuriel to the manor, so that when he left, this place gets destroyed.”

There was a loud creaking and Clary looked up in time to see the bookcases groan against a sudden weight, cracking together, and folding in half. The rolling ladder screamed as it popped out of place, splintering in every direction. Jace raced to the desk, pulling Clary along with him. He picked up the chair and threw it against the window. The glass shattered and Jace grabbed Clary’s hand. 

“We have to jump.”

Clary didn’t have the time to protest as Jace raced ahead, yanking Clary with him, enough that she felt it in her shoulder. They clambered over the ledge and jumped. Clary’s heart pounded as she felt the rush of wind. Shards of glass flying around her, turning over and over like diamonds. The manor collapsed, debris rushing behind her as she was flung into the air. She could see everything so clearly, herself soaring alongside the wreckage, every blade of grass as she began to fall to the ground. Jace pulled her towards him, shielding her as they hit the ground in a heap. Clary wheezed as she thudded onto the grass, its sweet scent dizzying. She bolted up in time to see a part of the roof blow off, soaring into the air. It whistled as things began to plummet down. Jace shouted, rolling on top of Clary. His hand blocking her shoulder and she pulled him closer, flinching as something heavy landed inches away from where her head used to be. 

They both turned. A sink wrenched out of its mooring and still spitting out water from a chipped tap. Clary exhaled slowly, but Jace remained still. His body hovering over hers, her heart pounded far faster because Jace’s breath fluttering her hair. More than that she could feel him so close, like the nature of his veins was a mirror to her own. What was inside him was inside her right? Or was this just the proof their being siblings? He was shaking harder than she was. 

“Jace? Are you hurt somewhere?”

“There was a reason I didn’t want you to come-”

“What?” she asked sharply.

“You don’t think like a shadowhunter. You’re impulsive, you make decisions based on how you feel, and you’re too trusting. You do things that bring danger to other and it’s a liability.”

Stung, Clary gasped. “If that’s how you really feel, then give me the book and I’ll go, then you won’t have to-” Clary struggled to sit up, but Jace grabbed her, effectively pinning her.

“Wait.” Jace cried. “When I meant that, I had myself in mind.”

“Huh?”

“I was talking about myself. I hurt everyone around me, the way I am is wrong. Not you, you’re practically an angel. Hell, you just saved one a moment ago, and I-I’m, let’s face it-I was experimented on. I’ve got demon blood inside me. I understand now why I feel the way I do. It’s not natural. I’m sorry that it burdens you.” 

Clary shook, matching her brother’s quivering frame. Anger like she had never felt before filled her up; it outweighed the despair of his confession. Jace was about to speak again, looking even more severe than before. As though he was about let the despair color his voice again. 

“Burden?” Clary cried. “I never thought it was burden, not once-how dare you, and how dare you say you are evil, because you don’t have demon blood in you, because if you had I would never have fallen in love with you!”

Jace pulled back as if slapped, but Clary continued. 

“Don’t tell me you love me because you hate yourself, that you don’t deserve any better any better because you do, and so do I.” 

Clary pushed Jace off her and began to walk. Jace stared up at her for a moment, blinking rapidly before he heaved himself up and began to follow her. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Back to Madeleine’s, bet she’s freaking out by now, I’ve been gone too long.”

Jace nodded, heavy with resignation that she had never seen before. “Then I’ll go with you.”

Their horses had run off, no doubt frightened by the explosion. Clary just considered that she wasn’t familiar with the countryside of Idris, but she didn’t think Jace…

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where Ragnor Fell lives?”

“Um no.” Jace said. “Just why the desire to go?” he asked.

Clary frowned. “Nothing really. Just a feeling something’s wrong.”

“Fine then, let’s go.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
“Ok thanks, keep us posted.”

Sam snapped his phone shut. He looked warily around the room at the other occupants. Dean was farthest from him, leaning on the bedpost with one hand gripping the frame, his legs crossed. It seemed that he wasn’t paying attention, as he was staring at the blank television. He didn’t notice Castiel staring at him from the wall that he stood against, the angel finally drawing his attention to Sam. He was sitting beside the table that was by the hotel room’s door. In the chair opposite he sat Ellen, who wasn’t looking at Sam but Luke, who hadn’t stopped pacing the length of the room. Magnus leaned much like Dean, his back to the curtained window, wildly exotic against the beige curtains. His legs crossed together helped further the illusion of boredom he exuded. 

Simon took a seat on the bed nearest the door, frowning as he exchanged glances with Jo, who lay on the opposite bed, tossing a pillow between her hands. She appeared relaxed, but her eyes were sharp. Simon didn’t understand how she could achieve such calm because his back was ramrod straight. Although Luke would’ve been feeling worse. Luke had shown up looking for Clary. When he said he hadn’t seen her, Luke became frantic and he left, Simon in tow to the hunters on the off chance she asked for the help. Of course, it was more by Simon’s suggestion, as they had gone to Magnus first. The warlock explained the Lightwoods left the day before and Madeleine Bellefleur not among them and last seen in Clary’s company. It didn’t take long to put two and two together.

“So why is it such a bad thing for Clary to go to Idris?” Jo asked.

“Because technically she isn’t a shadowhunter and no one but a shadowhunter may enter Idris.” Luke replied.

“So how is this our problem?” Dean asked. 

“Dean.” Sam frowned. “It affects us. I have a theory.” 

All eyes turned to him. Jo set down her pillow and sat up. Magnus’s cat eyes dragged to Sam and he arched one thin eyebrow. 

“Oh? Pray tell would that be?”

“Share with the class Sammy.”

Sam shifted in his seat and spoke to Luke. “Do any of your contacts have any idea where Valentine is?” he asked. 

Luke stopped pacing and frowned. “No, why?”

“Because I was on the phone with Bobby. It’s been quiet on our end. No demonic omens, signs, or anything, and no sign of Lucifer what so ever.” 

“What are you getting at? That Lucifer and Valentine are in the same place?” Ellen asked. “If that’s true, I suppose it isn’t a stretch, but where would they be-hopefully not where I’m thinking.”

“Idris.” Simon stated. 

“Yahtzee.” Sam said. “What I don’t understand is the significance of Idris? Strategically speaking since Valentine wouldn’t want it for sentiment, so its got to have some importance.”

“It’s the stronghold for all shadowhunters the world over. Topple it and you topple all the institutes. In fact…” Luke paled. “In fact, shadowhunters from all over the world are going to the Capital to a mandatory council meeting on what to do with the issue of Valentine. With all the important shadowhunters-everyone, in one place, it is a perfect time to strike. He could kill everyone.”

“Has he finished the ritual?” Jo asked. 

“Safe to say that’s a certainty.” Magnus replied. “Either way, he has the advantage.”

Dean grunted. “Sounds familiar.”

“What’s this to do with Clary?” Ellen spoke up. 

“Her brother, Jace, he and the Lightwood’s are being put under a microscope for the ship business. The Inquisitor tried to make them out to be traitors and Jace-” Luke sighed. “Well either way, he will feel the brunt of the Clave’s hammer.”

“Where Jace goes, Clary goes.” Simon interrupted. 

“They are not a forgiving sort.” Magnus said. 

“Big surprise.” Dean replied. 

Both Sam and Luke gave him even looks, but he earned a small smile from Simon. Dean ignored all pairs of eyes. The air hummed with anxiety as Dean slowly unfurled himself, hands moving down his legs as he slapped his jeans. 

“So Idris huh? Can we drive there?” 

Luke, Magnus, and even Simon stared. A mixture of incredulity and exasperation. Magnus shook his head.

“Just crazy enough to go huh?”

Dean smiled tightly as Luke shook his head.

“Impossible.” 

“Not for us.” Dean retorted. 

“So where to?” Jo asked, eyeing Luke. 

“There are wards-things that make it possible to gain entrance…” Luke began. 

Magnus interrupted. “That mundanes can’t break.”

“Mundanes are expressly forbidden from entering. I’m not sure what the Clave will do to you if you try.”

“Oh not this bullshit again.” Jo burst out. “You’ve seen what we can do, why don’t you trust us?” she cried. 

“It’s not like that.” Luke began raising his hands up before continuing. “It’s not us you need to convince. This is unprecedented. How-” he turned to Magnus. “How can mundanes even enter Idris?”

“The usual way.” He replied not without sarcasm. 

“If he can’t, then I will.” Castiel said. 

“I never said I couldn’t.” Magnus replied. “But I’m in a charitable mood.”  
Unblinkingly, Castiel said, “If you need assistance, let me know.”

Magnus eyed the angel with a bemused look. “Noted.”

Castiel nodded and Sam turned to Magnus.

“Ready?”

“We’ll need more than this.” Magnus replied.

“He’s right.” Ellen said. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked. 

“My pack.” Luke stated. “We can go to Idris and I’ll rally the werewolves there.”

“I can think of a few warlocks who might be willing. Magnus added. “So we’ll need someone to hold down the fort.” 

“Since this could be a trap.” Ellen pointed out. “Anyone other than demons we have to deal with?” she asked. 

“Just keep your guard up.” Magnus warned. 

“A good assumption.” Castiel said. “Even so, it’s a trap that must be sprung.” 

“That being said, we’ll need to hold down the fort.” Magnus said. 

“Jo.” Ellen said. 

“Mom.” Jo snapped. “I’m not a child.” 

Magnus rolled his eyes, revealing glitter eyeshadow. “That’s what children say.” Then he spoke to Jo in a very patronizing manner. “Relax; you still have a very important job. You’re not being left behind. Well you are but-”

“I’ll stay here too.” Ellen said, leveling a death glare at Magnus. 

“Same here.” Simon said. 

Luke stared at him in surprise before shrugging. “Very well, those who are coming do so now.” He said. 

Dean, Sam, Castiel, Magnus, and Luke all moved to the door. Simon stared as each man began to get ready. Dean handed Luke a sawed off shotgun, the werewolf loaded it with a precision that shocked Simon and made Dean smile. Jo pulled a knife from beneath her pillow and tossed it to Dean.

“Its silver.” She said. 

“Pass me the holy water please.” Sam called. “Thanks.”

“Here, have an extra.” Dean handed a machete to Ellen. 

“Do we have any dead man’s blood?” Ellen asked.

“In the trunk.” Jo said. 

Simon continued watching the bustle, noticing Sam take the colt and slide it into the waistband to his jeans. He watched as Castiel silently nodded to both the women and went to Dean’s side. 

“Keep you posted.” Dean called. 

Magnus gave them a wink. They were out the door and it was suddenly much to quiet. Simon sat up, the calm manner of Jo and Ellen disturbed him. It reminded him too much of a war. He didn’t think he could ever get used to it. He watched the two women sit at the table, the light of the lamps, the only thing keeping him calm. He closed his eyes, praying for Clary’s safety.   
__________________________________________________________________  
The way to Ragnor’s was difficult, but when they finally arrived, Clary felt nothing but relief. She raced to the cabin, ignoring Jace’s shout of warning and yanking the door open, boots clattering against the thick wood.

“Ragnor! Madeleine!” she shouted. “I’m sorry, but I’m back. I’ve got the book.”

She peered into the darkness, feeling Jace stand behind, at attention.

“Clary…” he whispered. 

At his tone, Clary still in fear. She was about to ask him what was the matter when she finally noticed the smell. Thick and cloying; something that would be poisonous to taste. Jace snorted in disgust, the loathing in his voice cutting and distinct. 

“Demons. That’s their reek. They have killed.”

“No.”

She reached for the table, sure that Ragnor kept a lantern there. Her feet couldn’t get too far; they nudged into something cold and heavy. Clary’s scream was so sharp that it caught in her throat and stuck there letting her choke. Her blood chill inside of her as it drained from her as she grabbed the lantern. The fingers trembled almost too badly to hold it, but some tiny part of her mind was quiet, muscles moving in memory to light the thing without trouble. Chest heaving, she willed herself to look down. It was Madeleine. Or at least part of her. She was missing her lower torso and legs. Her chest was ripped open, ribs gleaming and their shine making Clary’s stomach turn. Madeleine’s stomach was shredded and Clary had a sudden horrible thought that her flapping flesh resembled paper streamers. Her innards had spilled out of her, and Clary realized that they appeared to be half eaten. Madeleine’s bright silver hair fanned out around her, weighed down by her own blood. The strands were still soft looking. It was her eyes that drew Clary in. They were wide with fear and something that Clary couldn’t quite define but she was relieved to not know what it was. Clary noticed that Madeleine’s eyes still had unshed tears glossing the color. It kept the expression vivid, gaze boring into Clary. 

She dropped her gaze to Madeleine’s clenched fist, but Clary couldn’t bring herself to touch the woman. She realized she didn’t need to; she already recognized it, mind repeating it to her. Ragnor’s horn. Ragnor’s horn bloody down to the stump with bits of skin hanging to the crusts of the base, white strands of hair clinging like some exotic root. Clary’s vision tunneled and she dropped the lantern. She didn’t hear it shatter, but out of the corner of her eye saw a hand catch it. Jace. Blinking, she evened out her body weight from collapsing onto him. His arm steadying her, his frame against hers. That made it shamefully easier to breathe, so she could concentrate on Jace’s words.

“It looks as though she put up a fight. My guess is Ragnor Fell died first.”

“Yes he would have.” Clary swallowed back tears. “He’d never let anything happen to her, not while he was alive.”

Jace frowned and Clary turned to see his expression. It helped her focus when she saw him try to puzzle out what was happening. 

“Hang on, I thought demons couldn’t enter Idris?” she said.

“No…they can’t.” Jace stiffened. “Clary how did you meet Sebastian?”

She blinked. Meeting Sebastian seemed like a lifetime ago and what transpired between them unimportant in the face of what happened. It took a moment for her to wonder why Jace was even asking her this, and then she gasped. 

“I was horseback riding with…Madeleine when I lose control of my horse and Sebastian helped me.”

“Does anyone else know that you are here?”

“No…I…” Clary shivered. “Oh God, oh God. I’ve I-God no, please God…”

Anguish ripped through her faster than she could process, thoughts spinning. ‘All my fault, all my fault.’ 

Before Clary could scream, Jace embraced her. She tried to recoil, flushing at the hurt look on Jace’s face. She glared at her hands, imagined blood coating her fingers. Her thoughts came unbidden, tangling within her, and making her body spasm. Then, like magic, a sense of peace washed over her. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t coming from her. Closing her eyes, she let the feeling overtake her. If Ithuriel could send her feelings this way, then it would hold true for the reverse. Clary let her gratitude build, sending it to the other.

‘Thank you.’

“Get out of here.”

Clary flinched before she realized the harshness in the tone wasn’t directed at her. She stared back at Jace, his gold eyes full of determination that was familiar of the old Jace who was unafraid to face any foe. He pressed the cookbook into her hand. 

“Go. Go back to New York, cure your mother. I want to…no I have to stay here.” He gave Clary a rueful smile. “I’d like to think it’s still my duty to protect Idris. I’ll do it till I die.” 

He said the last part lightly, but Clary felt foreboding. She swallowed and held the book tight to her chest; it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. 

“Ok then, but not alone. I’ll come with you.”

“What? No, I-”

“If Idris is in danger because of Valentine, then I have to help.” Clary hardened her voice. “You can’t stop me.”

Jace pinched his eyes shut. “Didn’t think so. Alright then.” He tugged her arm, voice softening. “Let’s go.”

“Wait please, we need to bury them.”

“Clary…”

“Please.”

Clary pulled out her stele, the memory of Alicante fresh but confusing.   
“I’m not sure how far I can take us to the city.” Clary gritted her teeth. “But I can try.”

With a flick of her wrist, she began to form the shape of a portal. She turned to Jace. “Hold onto me.” 

Jace clasped her hand, branding her on the spot, sending her soul tumbling at the nearness of him and together the stepped into the portal. The tugging, swirling sensations already anticipated. Clary struggled to keep her eyes open, but the world spun too fast to get a glimpse. Then, just as quickly as it started, it ended as the portal stopped, dropping them to the ground. The grass was on her face and she pulled herself to her feet in time to see Jace gracefully land, rolling into a perfect tuck before straightening up and standing erect. Clary felt a small stab of jealousy.

“Show off.” She muttered. 

Jace smirked. “What can I say? That’s how I roll.”

It was so unexpected that Clary laughed despite herself. “That was terrible.”

He smiled at the reaction. It was the most genuine expression she had seen on him all day. It didn’t last long. He sobered up, looking around. 

“We’re actually very close to the gates where you showed up. So not bad, Clary.”

She nodded in thanks and it was silent the rest of the way. Her shoes were too tight, blisters already forming at the heels as they trekked up a hill. Jace was ahead of her, not stopping as he strode upwards, the path rocky and once again Clary admired the ease with which he moved. It had become so steep that she began to use her hands to get to the top. Jace already up at the top, standing wordlessly in front of her. She ignored the swooping in her stomach at the sight of his broad shoulders. She was panting by the time she reached his side and mildly annoyed when he didn’t help pull her up. Clary wiped her hands on dirty dress and looked up at Jace. He was horrified, staring transfixed. Eyes wide with the kind of incredulous fear that came only in a person’s worst nightmare. She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. He started so badly that she took a step back, but before she could say anything, Jace pointed. Clary followed his finger and the world dropped out from beneath her feet. 

The demon towers of Alicante were lit red from the reflections of fire in the glass of their towers. She saw, like a panoramic warzone, fire burning through the city. If Clary listened hard enough, she could hear the screams on the wind.  
__________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	8. A messenger stands tall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own either series, just borrowing them. I’ll put em’ back on the shelf I promise.   
> Warnings: Violence, familial conflict, and a sex scene between minors.   
> Word count: 20,023

Somewhere in a cave in the Idrisian countryside, laughter rang throughout the cave. Valentine’s plan was rather clever, needing only a few adjustments. He blinked in sudden surprise, cutting off his laughter. The feeling of the one person he needed, the connection tugging at him to seek the other out. Smiling, he looked up at the stars, their beauty dulling the disgust he felt for the ancients that were filling up the sky.

________________________________________________________________________  
Isabelle looked back up at the clock. The meeting had been going on for hours, although she wasn’t surprised. This was the big one: what to do with Valentine-and her brother. Isabelle hadn’t been allowed to it, as minors could not go to council, but her testimony of what happened on the ship had already been taken. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Dragging her eyes across the room, she stared at the occupants. Sebastian had returned some time ago from his walk, reporting that nothing had changed. The only thing he managed to learn was that the council had gone for an extended session. Isabelle shook her head to clear her memories. Normally, she’d flirt with Sebastian so fast his pretty head would spin. She licked her lips; it was still a tempting thought, a way to pass the time. However, she willed the attraction to go away and turned her head to see Sebastian’s cousin Aline. 

Aline was staring out the window. The witchlight lamps from the outside gave a contented glow, soft on her body from its filtered light. She was looking absently out the window, ignoring the rest of them. Her glossy black hair shined and she was actually quite pretty, Isabelle supposed. A floorboard creaked and Isabelle turned to her little brother Max descend the stairs, rubbing his eyes. 

“Izzy.” His voice was thick and soft with sleep. 

“What is it? You might as well try to get some sleep. Alec and Jace won’t be back for a while.”

Max shook his head. “I tried, but-”

A scream, sharp and long, and full of terror interrupted him. Max’s eyes went wide, too startled to make a sound. Sebastian rushed into the room, a seraph blade in hand, which already had come away red. He was out of breath, starting at them in shock. 

“Outside.” 

As if on cue, Isabelle’s pendent throbbed at her throat, sending a raw pulses to her. She tensed in anticipation. “No…impossible.” 

“Maybe not.” Aline pointed to the window. 

Isabelle turned her vision tunneling as it began to pinpoint what was in the sky. Black storm clouds rolling with electricity, but they weren’t clouds. They made no sound, yet she thought she heard screams of malice. They moved and it took her a moment to realize it was headed their way and moving too fast to stop. The closer it got the more it resembled smoke. Isabelle reached for a weapon, but before she could shout for Aline to get away from the windows, the other girl froze as one piece of the smoke broke away from the pack, and smashed through the window. Aline screamed as glass exploded around her, smoke slamming into her mouth, the force of it wrenching her head back as it shoved itself inside like a train entering a tunnel. The rushing wind couldn’t drown out Aline’s guttural vocalizations. The rest of the smoke passed overhead, shaking the house as Aline suddenly went quiet, her mouth closing. She turned and her eyes were jet black. Isabelle screamed at Max. 

“Run!”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Alec raced up the steps at the sound of the shouts. The council was in chaos as a crash of something heavy hit from overhead. Witchlight flickered in response and the ground shook like an earthquake. The council members began to shout, panic sinking in as the sky became black. Writhing storm clouds that moved too low and too fast to be clouds as some split from the heaving mass, breaking into windows with ease. The smoky yet solid shapes. Alec squinted hard and saw the faces beneath the substance; ugly contorted faces bared their teeth as they came down and into the mouths of unfortunate council members. The force of it pushed their head back almost to snapping point. They screamed as the smoke shoved itself down their throats. When their heads snapped back, pitch black eyes the color of tar stared back at the other shadowhunters. 

“Demons.” Alec whispered. 

He held up his hands as half a dozen possessed members advanced on him, and the other council members defending themselves from familiar faces. Alec raised his hands higher, heart pounding as his fingers brushed his ears. In one motion he pulled out a pair of Latin inscribed knives from his shoulder holster and threw them. Each knife hit their targets, sinking into shoulders. Both hissed in pain and advanced on Alec, who unslung his bow and fired at those closest to him. He gritted his teeth, remembering the hunter’s advice.

‘The people they possess don’t feel pain and the demon inside can’t die by normal methods, I’ll just end up killing the host instead. I need to exorcise them, but how do I get an opening to do that?’ 

Alec loosed another arrow and stopped a councilman from slaying a fellow member with his own blade. 

‘I can’t hit a vital area and even if I did, it wouldn’t kill the demon…right?’

“Alec Lightwood sound the alarm!” 

“Yes. Understood. Be careful, these Shadowhunters are possessed.”

The councilman’s eyes widened. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. You have to exorcise them.”

“Alright, now hurry.”

Alec nodded and spun around and out of the corner of his eye; he saw that shadowhunter get tackled to the ground. Alec bit back a shout. As much as he wanted to stay to defend the Gard, the other Shadowhunter was right. Reinforcements were needed and Alec just had to trust that they would survive in the meantime. The council room still in chaos as Shadowhunter was against Shadowhunter as seraph blades began to light up. Alec raced down the stairs, screeches of words among the shouts.

“Hurry up and run!”

“We can’t abandon the Gard.”

“To hell with the Gard, our families are down there-we’ve got to get to them-”

“Damn Valentine, how’d he get to so many Shadowhunters?” 

“Demons! Demons are attacking us!”

“Impossible!”

Another set of windows exploded. A demon, or rather, an ancient-a Yanluo demon with spindly limbs and deadly stingers dragging a screaming Shadowhunter out a broken window. The Shadowhunter plunged a brilliantly bright seraph blade into its face before he fell. Alec ran toward the creature. He shot an arrow, aiming true and hitting the creature in the face. The Yanluo screeched as dark blood spurted all over the walls. With a roar of rage the hellish beast raised itself on its hind legs, its other four legs flexing, and pincher slick with poison. Its girth was in the center of its body but it walked with ease to Alec. He readied his hands to get another arrow, but found none. Before he could grab the blade at his belt, it charged at him with a speed that even Alec had trouble keeping up with. An axe came crashing down onto the creature’s back, burrowing so deep that it pierced its mid-section. Stuttering, the demon thrashed, unable to lose the axe from its body. Against its will, the axe moved, carving back and forth until the top half of its body was completely severed. It gave one last croak, black tongue bulging out of its mouth before its top half slid down, thudding to the ground. The Yanluo collapsed at the feet of Robert Lightwood.

“Dad.”

Robert smiled. “Glad to have found you.” He sobered. “Your mother is one level below, trying to get reinforcements. I need you to go the Penhallows’ and protect your brother and sister.”

“Y-yes but-” 

“Alexander, we can deal with this. So please hurry.” 

“…Ok. Yes. I’ll see you soon.”

Alec’s father handed him a long sword, a katana-esque blade. With a nod of thanks, Alec unsheathed it and raced down the corridor, heart pounding all the while.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Isabelle moved, flipping backwards as Aline’s dagger slashed through the spot Isabelle had been moments before. Aline laughed, high and cold, tar black eyes taunting her as Isabelle blocked her path. When she spoke, her voice was so unlike Aline that Isabelle flinched. 

“This is a pretty sweet gig. I’ve never killed a Shadowhunter before.”

Isabelle snorted. “You won’t get the chance. Get out of Aline.” 

“Make me.” 

Not-Aline grinned. Wide and terrible as a rabid shark. She didn’t stop as her eyes lit up with joy. The kind that Isabelle had seen on only the most depraved of demons, a childish gasp came from behind Isabelle and she turned. Behind her and clutching the bannister at the foot of the stairs was her little brother Max. Isabelle opened her mouth to yell at him to move, and Not-Aline raced forward, leaping onto the dining room table, shoes causing the silverware to shake. Muscles moving faster that mind, Isabelle blocked her path by jumping onto the table; she didn’t lose balance as she uncoiled her whip.

“Sebastian!” she screamed. “Get Max out of here.”

She turned to Not-Aline and began to chant necessary Latin. Not-Aline shrieked, lifting her foot high in the air and kicking Isabelle in the face. The force of it made Isabelle stumble back, her whip flailing before slashing at Not-Aline’s chest. Not-Aline dodged with surprising ease and leapt up. This time Isabelle was ready, coiling her whip so that it wrapped around the attacking leg. Not-Aline ducked low, avoiding Isabelle’s punch and balled her fists, slamming them into Isabelle’s stomach. She doubled over, but didn’t step back, grabbing Not-Aline’s wrist. She began the exorcism chant again. Not-Aline screamed and tackled Isabelle, fists flailing as Isabelle’s whip cut into her, leaving deep red welts into the young girl’s flesh. That didn’t deter the demon, who kept thrashing, not giving Isabelle the chance to exorcise it. So she used the heel of her hand and slammed upward into Not-Aline’s face. Its head tipped back, blood going back up the nose, and momentarily choked. Unable to regain balance, it toppled backwards and crashed to the ground. Isabelle’s whip still digging into Not-Aline and Isabelle let the force of it send her down, slamming her on top of the demon. The table cloth, plates, and silverware rained down around them and hitting them with no effect. Not-Aline’s hand sped back and grabbed a silver knife, skimming it across Isabelle’s stomach. A sharp scream cut deeper than any blade. 

“Izzy!”

Both girls, distracted, looked up to see Max wrenching himself out of Sebastian’s grip. The young boy’s eyes fixed on the knife hovering over Isabelle’s belly. Not-Aline used this moment to grab the table cloth and forth upwards to cover Isabelle’s face. The whip slackened and Not-Aline flung herself up and pinned Isabelle beneath her. The silver knife flew high into the air and landing at Sebastian’s feet. Max screamed as Not-Aline’s hands wrapped around Isabelle’s neck. 

Isabelle’s vision was filled with the white cotton tablecloth. The large dark shape of Not-Aline loomed over her as the fabric pressed into her nostrils, and the sound of her own breathing drowned out her brother’s screams. Her chest heaved and she pictured the sound of her lungs screaming in protest. Isabelle bucked her hips, the grind of her pelvis against the demon. Despite Aline’s size, the demon was easily preventing a wider range of movement. Isabelle’s hands flailed, her whip slicing through the air in frantic arcs just as desperate as its owner. Dampness suddenly splattered down like rain, wetting the fabric and when Isabelle sucked in, pulling in the fabric closer to her face. She could smell it, even taste it. She had drawn Aline’s blood. 

This triggered Isabelle’s panic afresh. Her chest pains intensified as the muscles in her arms began to shake in strenuous, seizure-like abandon. One of her hands knocked at her head, causing her hair to come unbound from its arranged style. A small part of Isabelle was still in control and she groped for where she heard a tinny clatter. She finally grasped the hair chopstick, its cold metal reassuring Isabelle as she clicked its base. The small slim blade popped out of its hiding place just as Isabelle freed the hand that held it. She couldn’t see, but instinct made her aim true and felt the familiar sensation of metal struggling before piercing through flesh and blood slicking her hands. The weight pinning Isabelle slickened and she pushed up, freeing herself from the sheet. Cold air hit her and she gasped it in, body screaming in relief. Isabelle didn’t pause as she scrambled up, eyeing Not-Aline, who was clutching at her neck. Isabelle’s hair piece was still stuck in place. She didn’t hit an artery, rather she hit just below the jaw, blade tilting upwards and a bit more shallow than she had initially thought. The wound wasn’t fatal to Aline. Isabelle’s relief was short lived. In one move Not-Aline pulled the pin out of her neck, ignoring the spurt of blood that splashed out and flow down the collar bone. The demon smiled, lips stained red. 

Its hand gripped the hair pin tight tiny knuckles white and straining. She moved the pin lower, the bloody point going further down until it rested in the middle of Aline’s neck in a certainly fatal place as it hovered over a thick artery. She pressed the point further into the skin, almost to a breaking point and the pin would rip the artery open. The pin’s point creating an obscene dimple in Aline’s neck. If the demon pushed any harder than Aline would bleed out in a manner of minutes. She was close, but not close enough for Isabelle for safely make the first move. If she tried to exorcise it, the demon could arguably have enough time to stab the neck before being forced out. Isabelle gritted her teeth as she let her whip hang loose to buy time. 

Isabelle released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in. The demon smiled wider and she realized with dread, that she had made a mistake. Not-Aline moved the pin away, but Isabelle knew what was going to happen before it could. She put a burst of speed in her heels as her body propelled itself into Aline. The demon grunted in surprise, dropping the hairpin, but its hands quickly shot out and grabbed Isabelle’s hair. It took a fistful and wrapped the locks around her fist, sending shocks of pain to Isabelle’s scalp. Not-Aline tugged hard, using Isabelle’s momentum against her, causing her to whirl around and be slammed straight into the corner edge of the wall. The impact crashing hard into her frame as she felt her nose break against the plaster. Blood splattered on the wall, bright against the paint. Stars burst in her vision, obscuring her blood from view. Isabelle blinked, stunned, and Not-Aline tugged her by the hair, pulling her head up so sharply that Isabelle’s neck cricked. The demon got a firmer grip on her hair, pulling Isabelle closer by the fistful before slamming her head into the wall repeatedly. Not-Aline giggled at the growing red stain and Isabelle groaned when Not-Aline pulled her back by the hair, as it was the only way Isabelle could remain upright. Not-Aline nuzzled her cheek, crooning in her ear. 

“Ugly little bitch.”

Not-Aline slammed her into the wall one final time before letting go and watching Isabelle slide down to the floor with a wet thump.

________________________________________________________________________  
Maryse and Robert fought back to back, the screams of fellow shadowhunters echoing throughout the halls. From the way others had turned on each other, like rabid dogs except with a glee unmatched by anything she had ever seen before, it wasn’t too hard to guess at possession. How this happened was hard to tell; only certain demons could possess people and a shadowhunter was even harder to possess. It was the first thing Robert relayed to Maryse when they met up on the staircase. More than half the council members sprawled dead around them. 

“How many of us do you think are left?” Robert asked, stabbing an errant tentacle. 

The tentacle’s owner gave a screech of pain, brackish fluid burst out as the tentacle exploded, and splattering Robert’s gear with gusto. Maryse gave a delicate shrug, eyes searching for enemies. 

“Not too sure, but the lower levels are over run and not accessible without heavy weaponry.” She glowered. “Which we don’t have. I had to use my last kindjal and it broke in half.”

Robert nodded. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to stay was deafened by a great roaring. Everything shook in response. Maryse and Robert reached for each other, stiff as hunting dogs. The ceiling cracked, tiny bits of debris seeping through. Another shake accompanied a burst of roaring. 

“That came from above.” Maryse said.

Robert nodded. “I think a part of the Gard collapsed.”

The roaring grew louder, closer and Maryse peered out of a broken window, face draining of color, and instead reflecting the hue of the scene. Colossal pillars of flame were bursting out of the Gard. Bright, angry colors of the intense fire were only outdone by thick choking smoke the broiled up to the sky like hot water, obscuring the sky. It was impossible to tell where the fire started or how, but that didn’t matter. It was already here.

“Robert…” she whispered. 

At her tone, he followed her gaze, paling at the sight. Billowing flames visibly advanced in their direction, the heat could felt even from where they stood; sweat breaking out on their bodies, making them look feverish. A keening noise rose higher and higher, demanding their attention. The sound was overwhelming as it became more obvious that those were the sounds of human beings in pain, begging for help. When Maryse spoke, her voice quavered, and eyes glassy in the reflection of burning surroundings. To Robert she suddenly looked as young as the day he first met her. 

“The prison Gard. Jace.” 

She shuddered, violently doubling over, but made no sound. Despite her wearing gear, Robert had long since memorized the roadmap of her back and he counted the ridges of her spine and was oddly comforted by the sight. Before her could put his arms around her, she straightened up and the weapon in her hand was firm in her grip. 

“We need to retreat. It isn’t feasible to stay at a place that can no longer be defended.”

“Then we should hurry.” Robert handed her an elbow length blade. “I’ll cover you.” 

The two stopped speaking, running past the council room full of dead shadowhunters and descended the narrow staircase. The movement gave the urgency of being pursued, smoke beginning to fill up the passage behind them, bringing with it the clarity of imminent danger. A piece of the staircase had been blown off, black at the edges and crusting over with blood. Surprisingly, the staircase could still hold itself up unsupported by the top half. The drop was at least ten feet. 

Another explosion of flame echoed against the walls. Maryse picked up her pace, the narrow passage was meant for single file. At the latest sound of fire, Robert stopped, whirled around picking up Maryse as if she were a little girl. He didn’t hold her for long. Robert tossed her down the gap of the stairs. Maryse shifted her weight in the air, swinging her body so that she landed in a crouch. The exit was only a few hundred feet farther and Robert was going to be right behind her. She sprinted, muscles crying out but she ignored them. Once she hit the smoky air, she allowed herself to turn around. Out of her peripheral vision someone in black was moving towards the Gard. Automatically she raised her blade and prepared for attack. 

“Maryse Lightwood.”

It only took her a few seconds to register who the voice belonged to. 

“Kalim.”

Kalim nodded and coming up behind him were more shadowhunters, hurrying with water, their faces strained. They rushed past Maryse, dumping water as soon as they were close enough to the flames. A long screech and hiss of warning before a large fireball exploded outwards, more deafening than the last, pushing the shadowhunters back by at least twenty feet. The ones closest to the Gard were flung back even farther, screaming as pockets of flames burned them. Even more unfortunate were the ones that caught on fire, trying to put themselves out. Maryse didn’t care about that. Something shattered inside herself as everything narrowed down to a tiny point of light and inside that light something came into focus. Maryse became aware of the screaming, the pain in her throat, the way the sound traveled through her, and projected up to the sky. All the way up to the he smoke.

“Robert!!!”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary smelled the stench before she saw anything. She put a burst of speed to her feet, her stele gripped tight in one hand, a seraph blade in another. Jace beside her and she felt a small spark of pride at being able to keep pace with him. The screams snapped her back to her surroundings. Alicante was in chaos, ancients of all manner of grotesquerie attacked indiscriminately. The ones that could fly swooped down to pick up children, only to drop them from great heights. Others with tentacles strangled and suffocated any within their lengthy reach. Corpses littered the ground, many of them missing limbs as though they had half-eaten, their devourers interrupted by forces that weren’t there to keep protecting the dead. 

Clary resisted the urge to put her hand to her face, and she steadied her nausea by concentrating on her stele. The power that buzzed through it calmed her, as did Ithuriel’s presence. 

“We are not alone.”

Clary nodded and repeated the angel’s words aloud. Jace stiffened deadly, silent as his eyes swept past the broken shop windows. They had a looted look to them and the lamp post’s witchlight flickered ominously, clattering against the bent poles. Jace withdrew a seraph blade. 

“Get behind me.” 

A sickening slithering sound suddenly emerged amid the screams. An ancient appeared. It was large and an off grey-green color. It seemed to be a cross between a slug and a centipede. Its body was coated in thick mucus that dribbled to the ground, hissing wherever its drops hit the cobblestones. Tiny legs that barely touched the ground wriggled at them. Eyeless, its head, or rather the front of it swiveled to face them. A zipper-like protrusion went from end to the other, clattering together in agitation as it slunk closer to them. Jace sucked in a breath and his voice was tight when he spoke.

“Careful, that’s a-”

“I don’t care.”

Clary was shocked at the coldness of her own voice, but the sight of the creature kindled a rage in her that she never experienced before. She was aware that Ithuriel felt the same-she could feel the angel’s fury and disgust as if it were her own. 

“Unclean monstrosity. We need to destroy this affront.”

Clary nodded in agreement, righteous indignation making her dizzy as she watched herself raise her seraph blade higher and named it. 

“Ithuriel.”

The blade blazed to life and Clary gasped. The blade had come to life at Ithuriel’s command, the energy filling her up from inside her and into the blade, letting it light up with fury. It looked different somehow, as if lit up from the inside, vibrating with tension. The power expanded until she wasn’t sure whose it was anymore, but that didn’t matter because it was theirs. It unfurled inside of her, trembling as the invocation swirling in the blade fueled the both of them.

“Let’s go.” 

Clary dashed for it with a scream, ignoring Jace’s shout of alarm. The creature spun sharply at the noise, tensing as Clary’s blade descended to meet it.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Screams echoed from all around, bouncing off each other, giving the impression of one long terrified cry. The city of Alicante must have been beautiful once. Large white towers of a sickly opaque color stood raised up, still tall despite the fact that they looked rotted, crystalline roots drying up. 

“Not good. The demon towers have been deactivated. They were the only thing-magically-that protected the city, without them the shadowhunters are defenseless.”

Sam looked sharply back at Magnus, the words chilling him. 

“Then we gotta hurry. Luke’s already gone ahead.” He said. 

The memory of the usually mild mannered man transforming, literally into a wolf came back into Sam’s mind. Despite being one of the stranger things he had seen, it wasn’t nearly as disgusting as initially thought it would have been. It was a little like watching something in fast forward. He had been a bit bigger than the average wolf, but so did the other wolves. Other than that, they appeared to be the same to any other wolf that could be seen on the discovery channel. Except when Sam looked into Luke’s eyes and saw the same keen intelligence that had always been there. 

“He won’t need any back up.” Dean said.

Sam nodded, his brother’s words bringing him back to the present. Luke had left with a veritable army; at least thirty or so wolves followed his lead as he raced into Alicante. 

“We’ll take the left.” Dean said, “As much as I don’t want to split up, this is a big place. So Magnus and Cas, you guys take the right. We’ll all meet up later.” 

Cas frowned but moved closer to Magnus, who shrugged. “If that’s how you want to do it mundane.”

Dean scowled but raced down the hill all the same. Sam looked back at Magnus and Cas. 

“Be careful guys.”

“You as well.” Cas replied.

The angel looked ready to fight, following the warlock as the two advanced to their destination. Sam moved closer to Dean, in a kind of disturbed awe at the sight of so much bloodshed and destruction. The half-eaten corpses-some of them children-littered the ground. Sam raised his gun higher as the screams got closer to them and were accompanied by cruel bursts of laughter. The owners of the sounds came into view. An old man was being chased by a group of shadowhunters in their black gear with their eyes matching the color of their clothes. Without thinking Sam rattled off the necessary Latin and black smoke unfurled themselves out of screaming mouths of the hosts, who fell to the ground. Sam grimaced regretting the desire to pull the demons out without the Latin, but banished the thought as he exchanged a look with Dean.

“Ok, where are the fireworks?” Dean asked. 

Sam shrugged in response, pointing the muzzle of his rifle to a winding street that was literally running with blood. Despite the cries of terror and pain, they did not meet anyone else. Sam could smell something burning and when he looked up to see smoke as dense as if it was from a forest fire, but the fire itself didn’t seem to be spreading. Maybe it was under control? Other than that, something definitely wasn’t right, his foreboding increasing. A feeling rather than a noise alerted him that something was approaching. He turned at the exact moment the witchlight stones flickered, fluctuating between dim and incredibly bright. It became too much for them and the stones shattered, glimmering for a few seconds more before dying out. Shoes crunched over them and Sam stared at the figure who hadn’t been there a second ago. A tall muscular frame that was topped with white hair and a hard face. A recognizable individual, but instinct told him as quick as his soul who that really was in front of him. 

“Lucifer.” 

He smiled the expression too benevolent on Valentine’s face. 

“Hello Sam.”

His placid expression fixed Sam in place. Lucifer had steepled his fingers together, as if he wanted to give the illusion of calm. In fact, his face lacked animation, but it was his eyes that Sam paid attention to. They were vivid and cold, a kind of self-assured menace. Sam could sense the pull of that anger, the tugging that he could feel inside him. The presence of him, as if everything in Sam was shouting. 

‘He is here. In front of you.’ 

Lucifer’s stance was possessive and Sam shuddered. Everything about the archangel was familiar and the shame of that notion was enough to make him nauseous. The world was growing fuzzy and slow, but his instinct screamed at him.

‘Move, move, move, move!’

Lucifer’s eyes kept him pinned in place and he finally began to walk towards Sam. The feeling of familiarity increased, as though gravity itself was coming for him, making him shake. The nearness of Lucifer made his heart pound. It was too much; Sam’s vision began to short out, threatening to send him sinking down despite the hyper awareness. Sam gasped, willing himself to focus. Lucifer extended a hand as if asking for an embrace. 

A sudden shout made him pull up short. Dean was running to them. Sam hadn’t even realized that Dean had been trying to get to them, waiting for the right moment to attack. Now he was in action. Lucifer gave him one lazy glance, sweeping his hand to the side. The gun clattered to the ground as Dean levitated into the air; he hung momentarily suspended before he was flung backwards. He was stopped by the wall of a shop advertising weapons. He hit the bricks with a vicious thud.

“Dean!”

Dean rose to his feet, a protective snarl in his voice. “Sammy-”

Lucifer raised his hand, pinning Dean to the wall. He turned his attention back to Sam. Sam swallowed heavily, saliva thick and choking in his throat. It didn’t matter that Lucifer wasn’t speaking; Sam could already imagine what he was going to say. What he would whisper to Sam’s soul. Lucifer was taking his gun away. It would be the first of many things he would take away. Sam wasn’t even sure if he dropped the thing or not because there was a roaring in his ears. It sounded too much like Lucifer’s voice for him to care. 

“Now I went through a lot of trouble today to see you. Won’t you come with me? It’ll save us a lot of time.”

Sam knew a threat when he heard one, but he could also hear his name being called. Strained and afraid. He turned, dread increasing as he felt Lucifer’s gaze follow his. Dean stared back, green eyes shining out to Sam, mirroring the terror he felt. 

“Don’t give in.” 

Lucifer’s hand extended again. Sam noticed his fingers-Valentine’s fingers-were unusually slim and rather graceful for a warrior. Someone else’s fingers were reaching for him without thought or will of their own. The soft gesture filled Sam with terror. It was too hard to breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that he was hyperventilating. The fingers were close enough to kiss. From far away, Dean was struggling to get free from his invisible bindings.

“Son of bitch, leave him alone! Sammy!”

‘He never will.’ Sam thought, dizzy and bitter. 

The fingers touched Sam’s eyes like a benediction and suddenly he was enraged, but was about to collapse. He was just about to scream when a hand shot out and gripped Lucifer’s wrist. 

“Dean?” he asked, hazy voiced. 

A laugh. Smooth with an undercurrent. Not Dean after all. The voice that came with it was much the same. It tutted. 

“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

‘No. No way, can’t be.’ 

The tone of mockery was distinct. Mirth, malice, and melancholy. A rich sneering voice. Sam blinked before his eyes widened in shock. The all too familiar short frame, slick backed hair, and the smirk. However, it was Lucifer who spoke first, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Gabriel.”

“The one and only.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked. 

Gabriel gave him a bored, almost even look. “Umm saving your ass. Duh.”

“So you’ve chosen Michael’s side?” Lucifer began. “Choosing him over me-”

Gabriel darkened. “Screw him and screw you.”

Lucifer was visibly taken aback. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. Because you two couldn’t play nice. You made us choose. Made me chose. So fine, I’ll do it.” He took a breath. “I choose them.” He jerked his head towards Sam. “People.” 

Confusion and disgust warred for dominance in Lucifer’s expression. Was there an undercurrent of hurt there as well? 

“Why?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Well they don’t have porn in Heaven.”

Sam choked and shot the short archangel an incredulous look. Gabriel shrugged at him before sobering his expression. 

“Because as bad as they can be, they do their damnedest to be good.”

“They are the most miserable, weakest creatures ever made! A mistake!” Lucifer shouted. 

“The same could be said about us. Seriously.” Gabriel gave him a bitter smile. “Taught not to feel for so long we’ve forgotten how, to even decide what’s the right thing to do really is. They make the toughest choices every day. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sick of re-runs.”

“Brother…” Lucifer’s voice was both mournful and cutting. “If I have to, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Gabriel snapped. “Go ahead and do it. Hell, you’ve been doing whatever you wanted to for years.” 

Gabriel eyed his brother with disdain and Sam was surprised to see Lucifer pull away from the gaze as if it burned. 

“So you’ll take sloppy seconds from a nephilim? Epic fail bro.”

“And you?” Lucifer asked icily, “Hiding who you really are?”

Gabriel shrugged, brutal and quick. “Eh? What can I say? I’m not the jealous type.” He continued. “Face it, you only wanted Dad to pay attention to you. Which you had by the way. Out of all of us. But no, couldn’t have humanity steal your thunder, huh? If it ain’t your way, it’s no way.” He shook his head. “I swear you and Michael have so much in common it’s scary. Not to mention pathetic.”

Rage, cold and wild flashed over Lucifer’s face. “Mind yourself, brother.”

He said it in a scolding tone, like a big brother keeping his temper in check. 

‘As if he had any right.’ Sam thought. ‘To act like a brother.’

Gabriel suddenly looked very young and Sam flushed, realizing he was witnessing something that was much too personal for him to see. He was suddenly uncomfortable on both Dean and Gabriel’s behalf. He didn’t know anyone who’d want to say any of this with an audience. As if sensing this, Gabriel kept his eyes on his brother. His voice softer when he spoke next. 

“I say these things because I love you. Doesn’t matter how much of an asshole you are, or what you’ve done. I still remember my big brother.” 

“So are you going to stop me?” 

Another smirk. “I learned from the best.” To Sam he said, “Get outta here Sasquatch.”

Lucifer gave a bemused look, arching an eyebrow, a small smile about his mouth. For a moment he looked like Gabriel. A dark mirror of an expression that made Sam’s heart clench. Lucifer spun around, silver flashing in his hand as he thrust forward, stabbing Gabriel in the abdomen. Sam shouted, staring as the Gabriel in front of him began to waver before disappearing entirely. Another one of Gabriel’s tricks. Sam focused on the real scene. Both brothers locked together, struggling as Lucifer held fast to his blade, impaling Gabriel. 

“Yes you did little brother.”

Gabriel gasped and Sam flinched. Gabriel’s face, full of astonishment, hurt, and love that made Sam nearly recoil from the agony. The angel blade in Gabriel’s hand clattered against the cobblestones with a ringing cry as anguished as a human voice, but it wasn’t that that shook Sam. It was the way Gabriel reached for Lucifer’s shoulders, grasping and falling short. If Lucifer drove the blade in any deeper…

Suddenly Sam was enraged, so completed and consuming, he was amazed he could focus. His muscles went on autopilot as he hands sped to reach the colt. He gripped the handle tight as he pulled it out and uncocked it in one blurred action as the barrel was a straight lined shot to Lucifer’s head. Sam pulled the trigger. Aim true, the bullet lodged into the devil’s temple, the force of it bringing him to a shuddering halt, taunt with the dancing sparks of the colt’s killing power. Lucifer went slack, knees buckling beneath his sudden weight, eyes wide with surprise before collapsing bonelessly to the ground. He went down with a loud thump. 

Dean, released from the wall, landed in a crouch and hurried to Sam’s side. Gabriel looked down at his brother’s body, swaying alarmingly, and one hand holding the angel blade still in his stomach. His eyes fluttered before his body gave way and Sam moved to his side, catching him before he fell. Sam grunted in surprise. Gabriel was heavier than he looked and he wasn’t helping Sam support him. In fact, he was staring at Sam as if he was having trouble trying to place him, his eyes very soft, the emotion behind them hard to pin down. The look vanished was he peered down at Lucifer, then back to Sam with a dawning comprehension. 

“You…idiot.”

“Hey, I just saved your ass.”

Dean bent down to examine Lucifer. The wound was still smoking. He whistled.

“Did that just happen?”

“I think so.”

Gabriel groaned, his head flung back on Sam’s chest, the vibration rattling Sam’s ribcage, snapping his attention back to the archangel. 

“This is gonna hurt.” Sam said.

He yanked the blade out, wincing at the sudden scream that shattered windows. Sam gaped at the wound. A bright blue-white light was visible underneath the cut of the flesh, undimmed even as ruby red blood spilled out. Sam ripped off a strip of Gabriel’s jacket, ignoring the groan of protest as he bound the wound.

“No…that won’t have-” he growled, cutting himself off. 

“Help me with him.” Sam said. 

Together Sam and Dean hoisted Gabriel up, each one on the other side of him from under his arms and began to move.

“It’s not…gonna…hurry….won’t last.” He shuddered. “The gun…doesn’t last.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Go go go go.” Dean said.

They hurried down a side street, not losing their footing despite the streets being slippery with blood.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary leapt back, avoiding the spray of slime and blood. The fluid hid the ground with a hiss, burning the cobblestones. She narrowly missed the burned stones, the heat pooling at her feet. She could feel it through her shoes and she shifted her stance to watch to ancient scuttle warily forwards. Its centipede legs waggled, blood crusting the edges. The seraph blade in Jace’s hand opaque and useless. To Clary, its power diminished as it name gone as surely as the one who powered it unresponsive to the power of Jace, its conduit and familiar. Clary felt a spark of pride that hers was working and still able to communicate with hers. She spared a quick glance at Jace and he stared back. He was still the way he was before he was about to strike. Jace gave her a nod, telling her to move to the left and flank the monster. He glared at her to give a quick warning, not even bothering with pretense. She gave him a reassuring smile then her own nod. 

Jace shifted his weight. The ancient lifted its head in response despite having no eyes. Its zipper teeth chattered together, almost sounding like laughter. However Jace had a smirk ready in response, but kept his body loose. The only visible tension was in his eyes. The ancient focused all its attention on Jace, even beginning to advance. Jace just needed to buy her a little more time. This show of trust, so quick after his declaration of the opposite nearly overwhelmed her. 

‘Still, can’t mess this up.’

She willed her feet to be silent as his when she moved. As her boot stepped forward, the ground shook as if Clary was some magnificent beast. The creature screeched, wildly turning its head with surprising speed. Its zipper teeth opened and slime cascaded down its head and body, finally oozing onto the street. It seemed confused to Clary. The shaking stopped short as if cut off. A metallic scent rented through the air, lifting the hair on her arms and neck. Like a prophecy she sensed it before it came. Tense coils of electricity wrapped around lampposts, crackling the witchlight until it exploded. Sharp snapping lines shot through the sky. The reverse of a thunderstorm and streaked out, covering a wide net of sizzling power. It hummed like a hive, larger even. The vibration wound its way around her bones and Ithuriel cried out in her mind, strumming in response to the display of power. The force of it was making her body shake and her eyes water. 

It lit up their surroundings and she saw ancients and demons that had gathered to them, unbeknownst in their focus of the creature in front of them. They were surrounded by these things, their features twisted in malice from the bright, crackling light. It lasted only a moment before being hit, and when struck, swelled in size. They were lit for few minutes after being electrocuted. They swayed like trash in the breeze before collapsing to the ground. The ancients hissed, collapsing in on themselves as the possessed shadowhunters shakily rose to their feet. They leered at Clary and Jace, black eyes glittering in the fractured light. Zipper-teeth screeched again, somehow having evaded the lightening. 

“We were careless. Paying attention to just one thing and not our surroundings.” Jace said, teeth tight in frustration. 

‘Because you wanted to protect me.’ Clary thought. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.’ 

Clary gripped her blade tighter, letting it burn brighter but a voice interrupted her, answering Jace. 

“Yes but that is why we are here!” A voice called from high above.

High up on a halfway destroyed shop, Magnus Bane stood on a smoking rooftop like some great billowing bat. A black coat jettisoned by the warlock’s light show. His green-gold cat eyes were wide with theatrical assertiveness, but his serious posture, and sparks danced at his fingertips. 

Jace arched a graceful eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes.” A new voice rasped. 

It was Castiel. In one moment he had appeared in front of the remaining ancient. It thrashed and screamed before him, sensing his presence. Castiel eyed the thing in cold disgust, a slight scent of something brittle emanated from him, like thunder. As though he called the lightening himself. The ancient hissed again, more fearfully this time, and Castiel moved so fast that his arm blurred. His weapon burning bright in his hand. He brought it down as sure and quick as lightening. It slammed down hard, cracking the zipper teeth and sending them flying, where they scattered to the ground like coins. Blood, thick and hot sprayed in a wide arc. With a final scream of pain, the ancient crumpled to the ground, disappearing in moments. 

Castiel paid it no more attention and instead looked at Clary. She felt a thrill go through her, the power inside her stirred in recognition of one of its own was within distance. Inside Clary, the one who wasn’t Clary wanted to go, to speak to the younger brother staring back at them. Clary didn’t feel the same pull so she sent calming thoughts to get them both on track. Clary smiled to Castiel, but before he could respond, Magnus addressed Clary and Jace.

“Go to the Accords Hall. Everyone is waiting there.” 

“What about you two?” Clary asked. 

“They’ll be ok.” Jace answered. 

“He’s right.” Magnus said. “The Accords Hall needs to be defended.”

Understanding shone in Jace’s eyes, hard and determined. At seeing this, Magnus smirked. Jace gave them both curt nods and without looking at Clary, turned and raced up a winding street. Clary hot on his heels.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean fired round after round into the monsters, trying to aim as people ran past him. They carried children, hurried along the elderly and others who couldn’t defend themselves on their own. The crowd rushed to the building at the top of the hill in front of the square. It was a wide area with an old school square with a fountain in the middle. At the fountain’s center stood a statue of an angel. Its golden surface was crafted with an exquisite expression of calm righteousness. It held aloft a sword and was demon was pinned underneath its sandaled foot. The angel was simply robed, clothes rippling around taunt, seamless muscles that grooved deeply in its surface, the shadows creating depth. Dean scowled at it as civilian and warrior alike splashed through the fountain in their haste to retreat. 

They even pushed others aside or falling themselves in the gathering throng. The sounds of advancing enemies from all sides. The consequences of their being there ringing louder than the terrified cries of the citizens of Alicante. Dean let them push past them, ushering them along into the building, guessing it was their city hall. 

“Get inside, hurry!”

A small boy clambered over the wall that encircled the fountain, tiny feet catching on themselves and sending him tumbling into the water. Dean scooped the child up in one arm and hauling him to his feet. A woman raced back to the child and hoisted him in her arms. She gave a shout at Dean as she ran into the hall. Dean shot a flying ancient that swooped too low. Someone bumped into Dean and he whirled around, gun moving with him and he found himself face to face with-

“Dean?!” Jace stared at him incredulously. “By the Angel, what the hell are you doing here?”

Another scream sliced through the air, cutting off Dean’s reply. Wordlessly Jace grabbed a slim dagger, runes engraved on the blade and bold in the reflected light. He flung it past Dean, and it sunk into the head of an ancient. It fell with a sharp cry. Jace glared at Dean in exasperation but Dean stared back, unblinkingly as he reloaded his gun. Jace heaved a sigh. 

“Where’s your brother?”

“Inside already.” 

“The others?” Jace asked.

“On their way.”  
_______________________________________________________________________  
Sam marveled at the shadowhunters’ calm. Only moments ago they helped him salt down the entrances and now they gathered together in silence, delegating tasks. A group of them had set to the task of healing the injured, their stele’s flashing. Even with the quiet, it was a beautiful place. Polished marble reflected the occupants. Faces stretched tight, red eyes, and glaring mouths. The hall itself was larger than it seemed from the outside. In the center of the hall, the fountain of a mermaid was smiling at everyone, water pouring out from its tail. The fountain was set in the center, which was a few hundred feet from four sets of staircases that went in every direction. Large pillars on either side of each stair set stood at the top of said stairs, ushering walkers to go up to austere hallways that were dimly lit by witchlight. Above the square was a domed ceiling, showing the burning sky. Its crystalline structure showing off the night sky with painful clarity. It was supported with thick gilded beams. It still kept the monsters at bay. 

However, no one was looking up at the sky. They were all too busy looking at Sam. To be precise, they were all gaping at Sam, Dean, Cas, and Gabriel. With stunned slack-jawed, unabashed gaping of a group that they were well aware was not a part of them. A girl, barely ten, tentatively reached out to touch a newly spray painted devil’s trap. The girl’s mother snatched her back into her boldly Marked arms. Their bustling self-sufficiency meant none approached them, despite their almost hunter like calm. Even the children’s eyes were dry. They glared at the foursome. A voice whispered, easily heard in the quiet crowd. 

“By the Angel.” A shaky exhale. “Mundanes.”

“What are mundanes doing here?” 

Voice began to murmur and people began to point at the four. Sam fidgeted, making him seem taller than he actually was. His eyes moved down to Dean, who looked even more uncomfortable but stared stonily back at the gawkers. Gabriel sat wanly on the steps and despite holding his wound, he still managed to keep a bored expression. Castiel stood next to Dean and blinked. More voices increased in pitch and the crowd began to move. The shadowhunters parted as a group began to move to the center of the fountain. It was Luke and his werewolves. A bit worn for wear, but otherwise unharmed. 

“Luke!” Clary shouted.

She broke away from Jace’s side and raced forward, leaping into Luke’s arms. He grunted from the impact and then he wrapped tightly around her. They stood that way for a few moments. When they pulled back, he raised his hand and smacked her upside the head. Clary winced. 

“What was that for?” 

“For not waiting for me. Don’t you know how worried I was?”

Clary hung her head. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“I know.” Luke put a hand on Clary’s shoulder.

The shadowhunters and the werewolves kept to themselves. The former in particular pressed away from Luke and his pack, doing their best to ignore the outsiders. His werewolves began to skirt around the a few other downworlders that had shown up. The hands of shadowhunters tightened around their weapons, eyes narrow. Clary wasn’t watching that. She was watching Jace, who was eyeing the crowd. She guessing he was trying to spot his family somewhere in the sea of faces. His eyes widened and she followed his gaze. Maryse and Isabelle were in a tight embrace. Max was cradled in between them, limp and pale. Alec taunt as a wire, eyes dry and red. The world was shaking in those eyes alone. He was so still, Clary thought he might never move again. Clary sucked in a breath, to grasp at the air that was beginning to change in her mouth. She shivered next to Luke. 

Jace didn’t need to push his way to the Lightwoods’, shadowhunters moved just as fast as they did when the werewolves appeared. Jace met the gaze of this family, the look too intimate to be had in front of a crowd. Jace pulled himself to them. Isabelle disentangled herself from Maryse situated Max so that he lay in her lap, stroking his hair. His lips almost girlish in their pinkness, although they would never be that color again. Even though his expression would slacken and his body go stiff, for now his serene smile would hold. To keep giving the illusion of sleep. Maryse seemed to have aged ten years, actually fragile and pale. The lines in her face pushed deeper, eyes sinking back into her skull as if she had just died herself. 

Isabelle slowly enfolded Jace into her arms like a shield sturdy in the face of reality. Jace torn himself away after only a moment. Jace gave Isabelle the gentlest smile Clary had ever seen. It was kept firm in place, offsetting the glassiness in his eyes, as if he too, contained a universe within them. It rumbled deep and dark. Clary shivered. She didn’t know how he could ever smile again. Jace steered Isabelle back to Maryse and Alec. Jace looked his parabatai in the eyes. The two didn’t say anything as they spoke the language of brothers. Alec swallowed heavily and Jace leaned close, pressing his lips forehead like a benediction. His mouth trembled against tumbling locks. Alec’s feather duster eyelashes quivered, growing thick and weighing down with tears. 

Jace leaned down to Max as if paying homage to a fallen king. He nuzzled into him, catching his baby scent. Maryse bowed down like a weeping willow and leaning into Max as if he was sunlight itself. Jace closed eyes and breathed deep. As if it would be for the last time. Shoulders slumping for all to see. Clary had the sudden urge to put them in some private place. She rubbed her arms, willing the motion to calm her. Max’s body so tiny and prone sent her into overdrive.

As if sensing her stare, Jace turned to meet Clary’s eyes. The sky was lit a vicious dark red backlit Jace. His hair a burnished gold, as if he was on fire from the inside. Clary’s traitorous pulse sped up, almost terrified at the look of fierce affection that shone through the curtain of his grief that was reflected in there. Just as deeply rooted beside the sadness that was as terrible as a storm. Clary’s eyes filled with tears but before she could do anything, another abrasive voice rang across the halls.

“Just what is happening?! What are all these downworlders doing here?!”

A squat shiny faced man pushed his way to the front. His gooseberry eyes glared at the expansive werewolf pack, the smattering of warlocks beside Magnus, and a tiny encirclement of fey. When his gaze fell on Sam, Dean, Gabriel, and Castiel. His eyes widened to almost comical proportions, face suffusing to an ugly shade of puce. For a moment, he stuttered and chocked. Gabriel snorted and the man’s lips twisted upwards, too much fear to be a proper sneer. Much too embarrassed to be threatening. His eyebrows shot upwards. Dean leaned to Sam, his voice audible despite his low pitch.

“Who’s the garden gnome?” 

The man blinked rapidly, as if shocked that a mundane would dare to look at him, let alone speak to him. As though he as soon as expected a dog to walk on its hind legs and speak. However he understood what Dean had meant and reddened accordingly. 

“Who let the mundanes in?!” the man shouted. “How did mundanes get in here? Someone is responsible for this!”

“I am.” Luke said. 

The man whirled away from Dean with a flustered glare and marched straight up to Luke, who pushed Clary behind him. The two men couldn’t have been more different. Luke, tall and robust in his jeans and flannel stared back at the short, stout man wearing a trim and plush robe. Something about the man, already unmistakable in scope, paled in comparison to Luke. The man hissed. 

“I am Inquisitor Aldertree and you Lucien Greymark have no right to be here! Neither do the rest of these…” his tongue rasping in a derogatory way. “Downworlders and mundanes.”

Dean bristled and Sam was visibly taken aback. Gabriel managed to look even more condescending than he had since Sam had met him. It was a look he leveled at everyone in the vicinity. If Cas had felt insulted, he didn’t show it. He merely stood straighter. Dean turned towards his brother and tried to speak, but was cut off by the Inquisitor.

“You people seem to think you can do whatever you want. Well you forget-you can’t. There are rules.” 

“Laws can be changed.” Luke replied. 

“For once we agree.”

Someone came into view, striding into the center of the hall. The soft footsteps that belies that haughty stance. Standing before all of them in a crisp pinstripe suit was Valentine. A collective gasp went up, almost as if it had been rehearsed. He was given a wide berth despite his hands empty of weapons. He spared Sam a glance and winked. It was Lucifer. Somehow impeccably dressed and trim. No trace of blood or grime on him. 

Dean gave him a murderous glare, pushing himself in front of Sam. His brother was as white faced as himself. Sam fixed a heated glare on the fallen archangel, clenching his fists hard enough to draw blood. Gabriel doesn’t bother to look at his brother, biting his lip, hunched over and hand wrapped around his wound. Cas moved closer to the other three, hand gripping his angel blade. However, Lucifer paid them no mind and strode over to Luke. As soon as he was out of earshot, Dean whirled on Gabriel and snapped at him in a hushed voice.

“Three guess who. A little heads up would have been nice!”

“Why didn’t the colt work?” Sam asked.

Gabriel heaved a sigh. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. There are only five things in the universe that that gun can’t kill and my brother just happens to be one of them.” He wheezed.

“Good to know.” Dean growled. “You could have told us that weeks ago.” 

“Well excuse me princess!” Gabriel snapped. “I didn’t know that was what your dumbass plan was, if I had-” 

“Would you please be quiet?” Castiel said. “Something is happening.”

Both Gabriel and Dean shut up with a huff and Sam shot Cas a grateful look. The foursome watched Lucifer approach Luke.”

“It’s been awhile Lucien.” 

Dean frowned, speaking more to himself than anyone else. “Why is pretending to be Valentine?”

“Unless that’s not Lucifer…” Sam said. 

“No” Gabriel replied. He ignored Sam’s shiver. “No, Lucifer is wearing him to the prom. Why he’s doing this? I dunno, shits n’ giggles. Normally, I’d do something like that to these douchecakes…” his voice trailed off. 

Lucifer spread his arms wide as if he wanted to embrace Luke, who didn’t move. It didn’t seem to bother the former but he lowered his arms slowly, and began to face his audience.

“Now I know my companions and I have surprised you all. But it’s necessary. The Clave is corrupt, weak, and the consequences of that are standing before you.” He gestured at the gathering of downworlders. “They have breached our sacred city, diluted our birthright, and cloud our purpose. How can we protect the world when we interact with those whose ancestry is that of our enemies?” his face contorted into agony. “Therefore, to protect the Clave from itself, the diseased parts must be cut off for healthy growth to appear again.” Lucifer steepled his fingers together, as if this was a mere business transaction. “I propose a deal. You will all have until sunset tomorrow to decide this. You downworlders and mundanes leave Idris and my fellow shadowhunters must disarm and swear allegiance to me. You must wear a rune that will ensure this. Those who do not will experience the consequences. I am told becoming a forsaken is unpleasant.” 

His lips twisted briefly as the theatrical gasp that went around. He gave another smile, this one lasting longer, even preacher like. Sam suppressed a shiver as Lucifer continued.

“Yes, and to further persuade you, my army of demons can attack at any time, able to decimate Alicante in mere minutes no matter how many you amass. However, that can be avoided. Simply allow me to lead and our kind will be great again. Not only unafraid, but acknowledged.” He spread his palms open. “Imagine it brothers and sisters. A world where a mundane will get on his knees and thank you. Where no downworlder would dare disrespect you because of the duty only you are capable of. Imagine a perfect world, back to the handicraft of God.” 

At these words, it was Dean’s turn to shudder. He flashed back to a future where Sam wore a pristine white suit, with one foot over his brother’s corpse. A blooming flower was in his hand, bright as blood. Sam gave his brother a worried glance but kept silent. Gabriel shook his head, hair covering his eyes. 

Lucifer sighed quietly. “Well, I’ve given you much to think about. Tomorrow at sunset on Brocelinde Plain you give me the answer then. If we have to settle this by force, it will be there. Till then.” As he turned to leave, he spoke to Clary. “Oh and Clarissa please give my regards to your mother.”

Clary’s face underwent a metamorphosis, becoming white with rage. She seemed unable to move except for her fist, which was clenched so tight that she had drawn blood. Her green eyes were wide with fury. She needed them to be as open as she possibly could, so she could pinpoint and pour all her hate at her intended target. Her mouth quivered, as if it couldn’t contain all the venom she needed to spew. Her little body a monument of righteous fury. Luke grasped her tightly, as if Lucifer might snatch her up. He bared his teeth, suddenly wolfish, ready to burst out of his skin to rip out Lucifer’s throat. 

Lucifer, having finished his parting shout, turned to leave. However, his spell hadn’t quite broken. Inquisitor Aldertree was panting, chest heaving. He wheezed like a wounded bull. His paled face was beginning to flush, a hectic splotch over his face and neck. Whatever pretense he had possessed fell away, leaving him shaking. Impotent with rage and helplessness. It took him a moment to make his limbs move again, and when he did, it was with surprising speed.

“Valentine!” he screeched. 

Blade in hand, he raised it high, aiming for Lucifer’s back. “I am the Inquisitor-I set the rules!” spittle flew in all directions. “Die!”

Lucifer wheeled around, feral for a split second as he outstretched his arms, hands shaped like claws and swung low, bringing his arm up to Aldertree’s chest. Lucifer’s hand pierced though Aldertree’s chest. Aldertree gasped like a fish out of water, eyes bulging impossibly as Lucifer’s hand pushed all the way through the other side of Aldertree’s chest. His hand protruded between the man’s shoulder blade, and Lucifer lifted Aldertree off the ground. The man’s feet kicked, skimming the marble ground. Blood splattered on the polished marble that reflected a man in the middle of his death throes. Lucifer was up to his elbow in the man’s body. Aldertree’s head knocked clumsily into his chest, coughing blood that speckled onto Lucifer’s tie. Lucifer’s hand withdrew his hand and Aldertree slumped to the ground. Purple faced, and his hands curled into crude fists, rigor already setting in. Lucifer looked down at the body in bemusement. 

The air hissed as a dagger shot through the air, headed through the space between Lucifer’s eyes. It sailed through as harmlessly as if it were imaginary. It passed through Lucifer as if her were a ghost. The dagger clattered onto the ground. Lucifer looked back up and everyone took several steps back. Lucifer became insubstantial before vanishing entirely. 

The hall was in chaos. After Lucifer left, the hall exploded into noise. Arguments went round and round. The supposed Valentine’s trust and worthiness versus that of the downworlders. It was so vocal, shadowhunters openly pointing and shout at the downworlders and each other. Dean and the other three were mostly ignored for the moment, only pointed at in the same manner Aldertree had. However, they weren’t the only ones under scrutiny. The Lightwoods were treated in the same manner. One of the remaining council member stared at Jace as if he were some kind of two headed creature. He was a reedy man with sharp eyes and his rage tangible within his frame. He lifted one finger at Jace and he began to scream. 

“You! You you you! If it weren’t for you and your traitorous family, none of this would have happened. You are not even supposed to be here! I was there when the Council made the decision to expel you from the Clave and strip you of your marks. You were going to live like a wretched mundane as you deserve. We even put you in the Gard to be dealt with. Yet here you are, thinking you have the right to be here. Better to be a pathetic mundane than the spawn of Valentine. That alone should be proof that you are every bit a traitor as your father Jonathan Morgenstern!”

A hush fell over crowd and Clary didn’t dare move as she saw Isabelle wordlessly from Maryse, as both mother and brother stood up, individual in their fury. Maryse went right into the nameless councilman’s face, staring back at him. In a split second she pulled back her arm, cocked her aim, and slapped him full across the face. The sound was louder than a gunshot; it echoed like thunder and banished all other noise inside the hall. The councilman staggered back from the force of it. He clapped a hand to his already bruised side of his face. He stared at Maryse in undisguised shock. When she spoke, her voice was as brittle as glass.

“How dare you, speak to my son like that. “ I’ve already lost my husband and my youngest child. You will not disrespect my other children.”

“I-”

Alec rounded on the man, and his voice calmer than expected. “As for my brother’s loyalty, I was the one who let him out of the Gard.” His voice became firmer. “I can assure you he had nothing to do with Valentine’s attack. He need a plan.”

He broke off and his gaze met Magnus’s. They held contact for a few beats as though there was something inside their eyes no one else had. The councilman looked back and forth between the two, confused. When Alec noticed, he dropped his gaze as if burned, face flushed. Magnus remained impassive and began to speak. 

“Valentine does not have your best interests at heart and he will not hesitate to destroy anyone who opposes him, no matter their race, ideology, or family. If we do not think of a way to work together, or we’ll all be killed.”

This was met with dissent.

“You only say this because you are a downworlder and Valentine will destroy you.”

“That’s right; you’d need our help to be spared.” 

“What could you people possibly do that could be of any use to use?”

“We do not need nor want a downworlder’s help.”

“Leave before you make this worse.”

“Exactly, because Valentine won’t help us if you don’t”

“You don’t belong here!”

“Face it, you need us.” Magnus said. 

Luke sighed, brows pulling tight together as the murmurs grew louder, until shouts and slurs were thrown around, and the room erupted again. 

“Unbelievable.” Sam whispered.

Behind him he could hear Gabriel shift and speak to Cas. 

“Can you still sense Maellartach? All I can feel is my brother.”

Cas closed his eyes, frowning slightly. “Yes. Both are still in Idris, although it is hard to pinpoint either.”

Gabriel nodded, and Sam, ignoring Dean’s frustration, twisted around to look at the angels.

“Got an idea?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Gabriel said. “Grab the sword and get the hell outta dodge.”

“And leave all these people?”

Gabriel was unrepentant. “Yeah.” He huffed. “These guys are screwed with or without our help. Hell, they won’t even help themselves.”

“Look, we’re not leaving them.” Sam replied, and his jaw set. 

Gabriel stared back at him for a few minutes before running a hand through his hair. “Well, what’s your great idea big guy?” he asked. 

 

Sam thought for a moment, and the councilman whose outburst provoked another round of arguing, was speaking to a tanned woman, whose voice rose out with an audible snap. 

“Fine! Fine! Downworlders are one thing, but mundanes? What a farce! A preposterous, insulting-”

Dean’s sudden exclamation of anger made Sam jump. Dean stood straight and strode forward to the center of the fountain. Since this was the first noticeable action he had done since arriving and proofing the doors. The crowd stared. 

“Seriously?!” he shouted. “I get it, ok? I get it. We’re not the seven hundred club. We’re not supposed to be here, we’re breaking your ‘precious’ rules. But this is bullshit. People are dying and people will keep dying if you don’t get your heads out of your asses, and own up to the fact you need our help. All of us.”

His sharp gaze made shadowhunters back away, then glower at him. He kept going. He gestured not only to Sam and their angels, but to Luke, Magnus. The Lightwoods and the downworlders. He continued.

“Hey, we’re the cavalry. A raggedy ass cavalry, but the only one you’ve got.”

It was a while before anyone spoke, but a shadowhunter began again.

“A mundane-”

“His name is Dean.” Luke said. “And he is right. If we don’t stand together, we will all die.” 

The shadowhunters seemed cowed into a stony silence. Luke continued to speak.

“Now I suggest we come up with a way to work together for the time being.” He said. 

A shadowhunter named Kalim spoke up. “That appears to be reasonable enough. However, we need to think this over before we discuss terms with you.”

Luke nodded. “Thank you. Where would you like to discuss this?”

“Here will be fine.”

Sam marveled at Luke. ‘We steamrolled our way in here, but he’s the one running the show. Glad he’s on our side.’

Clary was marveling too; at the beauty of the hall, so much more than her dream had ever been. More importantly, she was impressed at the skill Luke had shown in talking with the argumentative shadowhunters. 

‘Well he is the leader of the wolf pack, so I guess it really shouldn’t surprise me.’ She thought. ‘But will I be able to get home in time?’ 

Clary searched for Magnus, the Book of White much too heavy in her pocket. The warlock wasn’t in sight, but Clary caught Jace’s gaze. He was with his family. They were given a wide berth, escorted by a few other shadowhunters in the hall. Maryse was holding Max’s body. Isabelle pressed close to her as she held hands with Alec. Jace broke apart from them for a moment, putting his agonized eyes on Clary. She could see it, so plainly as if he laid his soul out to bear, just for her. It was only for a moment, but felt like a lifetime for her. Then he smiled at her. It was a bit forced, the sheen in his eyes potent with pain. Clary inhaled sharp and quick.

‘He’s trying to smile for me. Even though he’s his father and Max and even more. He’s trying to make me feel better.’ 

Clary had to do something. So she smiled back. It was the least she could do. There would be no other way to give him relief. No other way to help. As the Lightwoods walked away, she felt a part of herself walk out the door with them. Clary turned and knocked into someone. 

“Sorry about that, I just-” she blinked in surprise. “Sebastian?”

Sebastian smiled. “Nice to see that you’re alright.”

Clary flushed. “Uh yeah. Thanks for your help by the way.”

“Mm. Did you get what you needed?”

She hesitated and her uneasiness increased. How much to tell him? The book had been kept secret for a reason, and telling him was a bad idea, a corner of her mind reasoned. Her foreboding increased as she realized that she could feel Ithuriel’s anxiousness as well. As she was reminded of the angel, a fierce protectiveness came over her. She envisioned herself throwing her arms over Ithuriel. Clary swallowed convulsively. 

“Y-yes. Yes thank you.” She took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Clary turned to leave and Sebastian’s hand shot forward and closed around her wrist. She winced. She hadn’t noticed it before, but her hands were just as slim as her mother’s, but the grip was harsher than any that Jocelyn’s ever was. Clary raised her gaze to Sebastian and had a flash of rubber-band snap intuition that something was strange. It brought back memories of what happened at the Fairchild ruins and an ugly flush spread over Clary’s body. 

“Y-you’re hurting me.” She stuttered.

“Sorry.” He didn’t relax his grip. “I just want to know how it went. You shouldn’t be by yourself right now.”

Clary frowned. “I’m not. She tugged her arm. “Really.”

“Clary!”

Both turned to see Luke walking over to them. Sam and his brother behind him, and a woman she didn’t know. 

“See?” Sebastian’s grip slackened and Clary tugged away from him. “Bye.”

Clary went to their side, deliberately not looking behind her. She shook her head at Luke’s questioning glance and he began to speak.

“Clary, we’ve got a shot at working together with the shadowhunters but this could take some time, probably a lot longer than necessary, so I’ve found accommodations for you all.” He gestured to the woman. 

She tentatively stepped closer. Clary noticed that she was careful not to brush up against Luke. She was pretty. Brown hair that was gracefully shot through with a silvery gray. It was swept up into a braid that hung down to her hip. Her face had light lines to it, but it was her eyes that showed her age. They were a melancholy blue, wide and nervous. She blushed pink like a school girl. Like Madeleine, Clary thought with a pang. She couldn’t discern the woman’s age by looks alone, but it was her eyes that really brought attention to her. Their shade was vivid and sharp. Wide and youthful in shape, but old in their content. Clary noticed that Luke seemed wary of touching her too, because he kept his hand raised to Clary as opposed to the woman. 

“Clary I’d like you to meet Amatis Herondale, my sister.”

Clary’s mind stuttered from the information and when she spoke, she hadn’t counted on her voice going as high as it did. 

“Sister? Ah…uh, that’s nice. I-I mean when, when? Er how long?”

Luke smiled. “Since birth.”

Clary flushed. “Oh right. Yeah. I knew that. What I meant to say was, it’s nice to meet you. So why haven’t I heard of you?”

Both fidgeted, almost in unison and Clary realized that she had touched on a sore topic, but before she could retract her tactlessness, Luke answered her. 

“We’ve been out of touch, but…” Luke smiled.

“We’re trying to get better.” Amatis said, “You’ll be staying in my home. You all are.” 

She gestured to Sam and Dean, who were hanging back a little farther than Clary realized. Amatis continued.

“If you feel comfortable with it.”

“Yes of course, thank you.”

“I’ve invited the Lightwoods as well, seeing as how…”

Amatis trailed off. Clary blinked, kicking herself for not recognizing the resemblance sooner. Amatis had the same slim, wiry build. Her stance, while not as wide, was a bit quieter. If Luke had been born a girl, Amatis would be it. She quelled the jealousy she felt when she knew that came from not knowing another aspect of Luke’s life, but she smiled, liking the look of Amatis. 

“So.” Amatis blew back a strand of hair. “Ready to go?”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
It had been a quiet funeral, the traditional white clothes hastily found. The runes inscribed on them were meant to be gentle, but to Jace, they just blurred his eyes. Watching Maryse try to contain her grief as Isabelle sobbed openly was too much. It weighed on her, like a living thing as though her back could hunch over at any moment and plow her into the ground. It seemed to take all her willpower to remain quiet and upright. Yet she did. Any other time and Jace would have been in awe, but his mind was numb. 

He knew it wouldn’t be that way for long. His mind protecting him from the confusion and anger that were surely there until such time that he could examine this situation without destroying himself. Privately, he was grateful for that. He was raw enough, almost too much had happened. Enough to bury him and he wanted it, to be buried beside Max. It warred with his newfound desire to live. Jace had a brief flash of seeing himself screaming, shaking Maryse. Of hitting the ground and ripping the earth. To dig Max and rouse him awake, demanding him to wake up and get to his feet. To laugh at the silly games the grown-ups played. 

Jace shut his eyes tight, willing his mind to banish the prospect of madness. He sucked in a breath, too sharp to be heard, not desperate enough to be a sob. Alec, who now had to keep Isabelle upright, glanced sharply at Jace. Eyeing him as if he might have to do the same thing for him. Suddenly Jace was envious of Isabelle’s ability to pour her soul out onto the ground. As if she was getting it done and out of the way. It was frightening, her screams ripped out of her, forced out of her hands. She attacked the ground, nearly fulfilling Jace’s own fantasy and he was surprised at the vicious joy he felt at that. It was as though it was some kind of proof that they still had something in common. Because if they did, then they had real hope to move on. They had to. It was either that or madness. Jace flinched. He just figured it out. He wanted clarity, no madness, and nothing else to hide behind. Yes, he would let his grief grab him by both hands when the time came for it, but the time for denial and hiding was over. He had to face Valentine and most of all, himself. 

They didn’t stay long. Only Maryse stated that she would stay, saying she needed time to herself to answer to Max and Robert as herself and no one else. Jace had a vague idea of what that meant. Her grief was a language he couldn’t learn. He gave a brief, but firm embrace before leaving. Jace, Alec, and Isabelle were gone before the smoke of Robert and Max’s pyre’s died away. They walked up the road, not speaking. Surprisingly, Isabelle could walk by herself. Only the sluggishness in her eyes gave away her state. Alec kept them both close to his side, a tight grip on either arm. No one was sure how long they walked for, only that the pavement was what kept them on the ground, and tethered to reality. 

As they neared the shops, a figure came into view. Magnus standing there as if her had been there since the beginning of time and had been merely waiting there for them. No mere happenstance. Jace turned at the sharpness of Alec’s breath. Alec’s face was working quickly, as if woken up. Jace was surprised at the reaction. Not because of what it meant, he had eyes after all. He knew what had been happening to his parabatai for a long time now and was secretly pleased by it. Not even the intensity of the reaction surprised him, but rather something else. The loss maybe? After all, there was still so much he had to say to Alec, but would he have the time?

Alec moved forward, unable to control himself. If he had been looking at his feet, he would have stared at them in astonishment. As it were, he was too preoccupied staring at Magnus. The warlock appeared to have just come out of a trance, lost in thought, only to come out of it in time to see Alec coming to him.

Jace had the sudden feeling of deja’vu that he was going to say goodbye to Alec. Like stepping off a stage and waiting for the next act. Jace didn’t want to see the back of Alec, not yet. Not when it was too close to Robert and Max’s departures to see Alec go off on a much different one. He shook his head. 

‘Well it was going to happen sooner or later.’

He couldn’t keep in the sigh; it left its mouth of its own accord. Alec stared sharply back at him, a guilty flush heading up to his face. It would have been funny any other time, but now it just reminded Jace of an often put-off conversation, one that needed to be had. Jace jerked his head towards Magnus.

“Go to him.” He said. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. If you had any brains at all, you’d go to him and not look back. I’ll be fine.”

Alec blinked far too quickly, surprised and wounded. “I-I don’t understand.”

Jace clicked his tongue. “Yes you do. You look at him the way you used to look at me. Because it was safe and would never happen, so you wouldn’t have to face who you are. But I know who you are and I can’t-no won’t face you for you. Do it yourself, because you shouldn’t forgive me.”

Alec scoffed. “Idiot. I already have.”

Jace smiled, suddenly a bit lighter. “Then do me a favor-I know I’m a catch, but go after Magnus. After all, he’s the one you love.” 

Alec blushed, stuttering so hard he couldn’t form words and the image was so normal, so blissfully average that Jace laughed. His laughter surprised him, as clear and retrospective as the past, like stepping back in time. He was pleasantly surprised that he was still capable of laughing. He wanted to hang onto the feeling for as long as he could, wanted to see if he could keep laughing like this after everything was said and done. 

Finally Alec regained his speech. “But…I-you. I’ve always-”

By the Angel.” Jace exclaimed. “If that’s how you want to play it-then kiss me.”

For a moment, he wanted it. To feel Alec’s lips crash into his. To form a violent connection, something only they could feel. If only it could help them through their grief. Alec stood flabbergasted, but Jace was firm. Alec had reached the breaking point. His parabatai needed something for himself, something as vital as air. It was the one thing that Jace reasoned, if he had any decency, he would do this for Alec as best as he could. Understanding lit in Alec’s eyes and he rapidly shook his head. 

“No I couldn’t.” 

Jace nodded, abruptly smug. “See told you. You should always listen to your brother.” 

Alec didn’t take the bait. “No. No, no no. What-your planning something aren’t you?” 

“Aren’t I always?” Jace smirked.

Alec sobered further. When he spoke next, it was with great difficulty, as if he had sensed Jace’s earlier thoughts, which was oddly comforting. 

“There’s so much left to talk about.” Alec said. 

“I know. We’ll get to it later.” 

Jace wanted that moment now, but Isabelle suddenly lurched towards him and grabbed his arm. 

“What are you two going on about?” 

“I have to talk to Magnus.” Jace replied. At Alec’s raised eyebrows, he elaborated. “What can I say? Guy’s popular tonight.” 

“Then I’ll wait.” Alec said. At Jace’s look, he held up his hands. “I’ll talk to him, I swear, but Isabelle needs rest.”

Isabelle glared at Alec, who to his credit, did not cower at the sudden fury in her expression. 

“Luke…er Lucien Greymark told us that Amatis Herondale had invited us to stay at her home tonight. So that’s where we’ll be.” Alec gave Jace a significant glance. “We’ll catch up with you there.”

Jace gave him a mock salute. Alec and Isabelle turned in unison, silently making for their destination. Jace watched until they left his line of sight entirely. He knew what he had to do and was glad to feel the familiar sensation of a surety of purpose and the determination of fulfilling that task. When he got to the warlock’s side, it was as though they needed no preamble.

“Well?”

“I’ve got an idea.”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
As they crossed down the lane, Isabelle saw another familiar face. It was Aline. The recent fight made Isabelle’s body automatically tense. Aline’s eyes widened and she held up her hands in the universal gesture of peace.

“It’s not in me anymore.” She rasped.

“How-”

“Your brother.” Aline pointed to the bandage on her neck. “He exorcised it. I’m not sure how, but he did.” Her face worked with extreme emotion. “Thank the Angel for your brother.”

Isabelle felt her throat convulse again, she quickly turned her gaze away from Aline. Instead falling on Alec, who also averted his gaze. 

“Yeah exactly.” She said. 

As the subject of the conversation, Alec felt duty bound to change the subject. He cleared his throat. 

“So…um, what are you doing?”

Aline brightened. “Well they’re telling all the minors to go to the Accords Hall. Probably so they’ll be found easily. They’re trying to put up the barriers again, but I’m not sure that’ll work. Want to come with?” 

Alec was about to reply, but Isabelle beat him to the punch. 

“No thanks. We’re going somewhere else.” Aline’s face fell and Isabelle hurried to explain. “Not because of you, but someone else is expecting us. Er. Sorry.” 

Aline brightened again. “I see. Well, I’ve got to dash. Lots of relief to give.” 

With that, Aline raced in the opposite direction. Alec covered his throat, exchanging a look with Isabelle. 

“Well…that was weird.”

“Yeah.”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
Amatis Herondale’s house was right next to the canal, nestled between shops selling sweets and the other blades. The inside was cozy, almost grandmotherly and it reminded Clary of the movie, Howl’s Moving Castle for some reason. She felt right at home. 

‘But don’t get too comfortable. Remember Ragnor and Madeleine…’ Clary shuddered.

Instead, she focused on the sight in front of her. The small living room connected to the kitchen, easy to walk through either. The living room was plushly carpeted and a single rug designed in red and tan triangles was laid in the center. Wicker tables and chairs were artfully scattered about. A couch, one that pulled out, as Clary was already told, was against the wall. It was already laid out and made. 

The kitchen was kitschy almost, but had an air practicality. The stove laid on the same side as the refrigerator (which Clary was surprised a shadowhunter would even have.) and rested on the right hand corner of the warp around counter. Another table lay across the from the kitchen counter, serving as a divider for the kitchen and the living room. On top of it were an assortment of items. On the left of it was the pantry, its door open by a few inches. Overhead in the kitchen, crockery dangled overhead. It created a distraction of pleasant noise if moved. In the center of the kitchen was a circular wooden table; the vase of flowers had been hastily removed and put on the counter and extra chairs were brought out. 

Despite any protests to the contrary, Amatis began cooking for all of her surprised guests. Who, Clary included, helped with the clutter. Amatis cleared space for the others to set down what little things they brought with them. Sam and Dean put their duffle bags in the guest bedroom that was on the left hand side of the hallway. 

The two hunters were already seated at the table, exchanging with one another as Cas stood behind Dean’s chair, seemingly unsure of where to be. Gabriel didn’t bother to explain his surprise appearance as he gingerly took the seat next to Sam. Across from them Isabelle and Alec sat mute. The only information they volunteered was that their mother wanted to be by herself and that Jace would be by later. If he were here…well Clary could picture it. Him leaning on the counter across from her. Shirt riding up his abdomen, the dark plains of his elbows in sharp contrast to the white counter. He would smile at her, like magic and the world refit itself into place again. To stop herself from brooding, she asked Amatis another tactless question. 

“Why are you and Luke out of touch?”

Deadly silence and Clary ignored the stares coming her way as Amatis paused before she pushed back her chair and left the table. Biting her lip, Clary knew she had made a mess of things. Isabelle kicked her shins.

“Nice. Very nice.” 

Clary made a helpless noise in the back of her throat. “I just-”

Amatis returned, carrying a small silver box. She sat down and Clary got a closer look at it. Embarrassed, Clary spoke up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Amatis kept speaking. “This box contains everything regarding my, well my ex-husband.”

Sam and Dean traded another set of looks as Clary, sensing a story, kept silent. 

“His name was Stephen Herondale and he was the only man I ever loved. This box is all that remains of his life.” 

Clary peered at the box, leaning in to get a closer look. She wasn’t the only one. It was beautifully crafted and perfectly symmetrically. It was entirely silver, decorated with slim twining vines and majestic herons. Clary had trouble tearing her gaze away as Amatis spoke.

“We met in school, as most of us did and we courted shortly afterwards. Since he was a good friend of my brother, who was Valentine‘s parabatai. That’s how it was. Everyone knew everyone in those days, we were all connected. “She gave a bitter smile and continued. “ And so we married quickly. A match approved by all. Since our father died years before, my brother was the one who gave me away. Stephen and I were happy and it was much too short. When Lucien was attacked by a werewolf during a raid and it all turned. His parabatai turned his back on my brother and so did I.”

Amatis paused and when she spoke it was with difficulty. “I’m not proud of this. To my everlasting shame, when Lucien came to me, terrified of himself, and beginning for help-my love. I turned him away. I told him to leave my house and called him a monster.” She took a shuddering breath. “I told him to leave and never come back.” She trembled. “He didn’t. I never saw him again.” 

Clary was speechless, but she didn’t have to reply because Amatis continued speaking. 

“I never saw him again. Until today that is. That is something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. That I’ve never gotten to see him and always had to imagine all the things that could have happened. All the things I never got to say, that I thought I’d never get the chance to. Now I can.” Her eyes were bright and her voice gained strength. “Which is why Valentine must be stopped. What happened to us shouldn’t happen, or the way my brother was treated. The way Valentine and the other shadowhunters view the world is wrong. People are people no matter what, and no one should hurt each other because they want the world to work in a certain way. Valentine and his circle shoved Lucien and Stephen aside for that. When Lucien got bitten, Stephen’s standing into the circle dropped. Because of me.” She spat out. “Because I was the sister of a werewolf. It was deemed unfit that he should love someone debased by proxy. He was forced to divorce me and by next spring he was married to Celine. She was eighteen and devoted to Valentine, so she was more than happy to marry Stephen. She quickly got pregnant and I never saw Stephen again. When I head of his death, I tried to go to his funeral. I was turned away at the door. I suppose Celine loved him as much as I did, because after his death she took her own life, along with the child she was carrying.” 

Her story finished, and she looked up, eyes glassy as she finally met the faces that looked back at her. Clary bit her lip, searching for words, for comfort. She needed it just as much as Amatis and she swallowed heavily. 

“I know Luke would be here if he could.”

Amatis smiled sweet and slow as if she knew Clary’s thoughts. 

“I know. Aside from the size of my house, he and his pack are not here because they frightened the shadowhunters. I am ashamed of my people’s behavior. So I’ve stopped fighting. I haven’t touched a weapon in years. So I apologize to ask those that do to fight on my behalf.”

“You don’t need to.” Sam spoke up.

Surprised, Clary turned to look at him. He was paler than usual and trembling slightly. Dean didn’t seem as surprised as she was, and he clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Sam gave him a quick smile and repeated his words.

“You don’t need to.”

The night came down steady and silent. Clary thought it was without warning, for reason she couldn’t explain. Clary and Isabelle changed, not speaking. Amatis offered the girls her bedroom, stating that she would not be able to sleep anyway. After dinner, with only minimal rehashing, everyone decided to turn in early. Jace hadn’t come. Not wanting to face anyone, Clary retreated upstairs and everyone else went to their respective corners. The need for privacy suddenly overwhelming. 

‘Maybe it’s the threat of imminent death.’ Clary thought. ‘Last night on earth and all that.’ 

Isabelle had borrowed a nightgown either too tired or beyond caring to take a shower. Clary however did care, wishing for warm water to wash away all that had happened. She hastily glanced as Isabelle, who had begun to strip. Clary glanced away, watching out of the corner of her eye. Isabelle was pretty in a way she would never be. A body that was round amply curved at the chest and hips. Her bust was firm, filled out, and nearly spilling out of her bra. The way that had guaranteed that she would be ogled at. Clary grimaced.

‘Not that I want to be ogled at really. Ok, maybe once in a while’s ok, but seriously? Come on, so not fair.’

Isabelle’s taunt tummy swung as she pulled down her pants. Not wanting to peep any more than she already had, Clary hurried to the bathroom, shutting the door with a click.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
“Flip you for it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, come on man, sharing already sucks.”

“What’s wrong with sharing with Cas?”

“Nothing.” Was said in unison.

Sam rolled his eyes. “We know nothing’s wrong with you Cas. Dean’s just being a tool-”

“And a pervert.” Gabriel chirped.

Dean glared. To him, the archangel was entirely too cheerful for someone who had just been stabbed by his brother. Gabriel continued unhindered.

“Think about it, why else would he want to share a bed with his brother if Chuck’s books weren’t true?” he waggled his eyebrows.

Dean took one of the books on Amatis’s nightstand and hurled it at Gabriel, who dodged it but not the shouts of “son of a bitch” and “midget douchebag.”

‘I should have let Lucifer stab him.’ 

Gabriel pulled a mock frown. “That’s not very nice Sammy.”

“Sam.” He corrected. “And I’ll go to bed with Gabriel.”

He blinked, belatedly realizing what he said. Dean and Gabriel forgot to insult each other and began to snicker at the verbal trap Sam let himself walk into. 

“Shut up. I just meant that you two would kill each other if you shared a bed.”

Dean nodded. “Very true.”

“I love my brother-” Gabriel began.

“I’m not sharing a bed with you either.” Cas said.

“But not that much.” Gabriel finished. 

It took a bit longer to arrange things, with the addition of two others. Especially since the guest bedroom had only two beds, each separated by a nightstand. Each brother left their things at the foot of their respective beds. Gabriel and Sam on the left, the angel taking the side closest to the wall. Unlike Sam, he got himself under the covers. He gently arranged himself inside as Sam kicked off his shoes. Across the way Dean shrugged off his shoes and jacket, but did not get under the covers. Instead he used his jacket. Cas stood watching, tilting his head before impatiently gestured for him to lie down.

“But I do not require sleep.”

“Dude, you’re not a robot. Just try. Besides its creepy that you’d stand there watching when we’re all sleeping.” Dean gestured to Gabriel. “Look, even your douche brother is doing it.”

“Stellar example.”

As appeared to think it over before slowly sitting down and without taking off a single piece of clothing, lay next to Dean on the bed. He folded his hands on his stomach and turned his head to Sam, who moved to turn off the lamp, and said:

“I can assure you I will not be having sexual intercourse with your brother.”

“…Good to know.”

“-Ah!” A sharp exclamation of suddenly cut off laughter. “I don’t even have to do anything!” cried Gabriel.

Dean flushed; glad no one could see it in the dark. “Okayyy. Everyone go to sleep.” His own mind was buzzing too much to take his own advice.

“How?” Cas asked. 

So quiet Dean was surprised he could hear it. For a split second Dean wanted to hit him for sounding so vulnerable, but then he remembered what he used to tell Sammy when he was little and couldn’t sleep. 

“Just relax. Breathe in and out. I know you can do that. Just concentrate on your breathing…and uh, think happy thoughts.”

Gabriel snickered and Sam whispered something to him. Dean caught a snatch of the former’s reply.

“What? He’s my little brother. I can be mean to him if I want.”

Dean heard Sam’s irritable reply and imagined the face that would go with it. He felt such an unexpected rush of affection that he was surprised. It made his heart hammer uncomfortably as he recalled Amatis’s story. He turned his head, watching Sam punch his pillow, the gesture so familiar that it made Dean want to run over to his brother and lock him in a box so that no one could take him away.

‘Stupid. Tried that before and look how well that turned out.’ He shook his head. “Besides, he said he needed to trust me. God, this is gonna suck, I-’

“Dean?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Dean pulled his gaze back to Cas to see that the angel was staring at him. Dean was close enough to see the exact depth to the angel’s intense shade of eyes. He fought the urge to pull away. Cas was doing his staring thing, so definitively him that he was put at ease, despite how strange it was to be scrutinized so personally.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Dean cleared his throat. “Er…yeah, yeah fine.”

“Dean?”

Dean sighed. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“…For teaching me how to sleep.”

The words were too small for what was trying to be said, what could very likely never be said. At least not to full satisfaction. For now the words as they were worked just fine. Dean nodded, silently mouthing ‘ok’ to himself. Strangely at ease and yet not. He was just glad that those blue eyes weren’t staring back at him at the moment. It didn’t help his buzzing thoughts. He turned to look at Sam again, and the one last reasonable thought he had that came to him as he finally began to drift off.

‘Be careful goddamnit.’   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary pulled the covers up to her chin, body drowsing as her mind wandered at a strange pace. Beside her, Isabelle was still as stone and she couldn’t tell if she was awake or not. The bed was wide enough that they could share it without touching. With a trace of sadness, Clary wondered if this was the first time since Stephen’s death that this bed was being shared. For some reason the thought made her flush, tingling in a vaguely pleasing way. Clary had to turn inward, wanting to keep the feeling. She touched her belly, excited. Isabelle groaned quietly, shifting. Clary froze, shutting her eyes, and pretended to be asleep. The bed dipped again as Isabelle moved. If Clary had actually been asleep she wouldn’t have noticed Isabelle get up and pad to the bathroom, and lock the door behind her. 

_____________________________________________________________________________  
Sam stayed quiet hearing the slow breathing of sleep. The day had been frantic and his mind was still there as his body became sluggish with fatigue. The only other sound apart from the sleep breathing was a soft humming. Gabriel’s tune was one he couldn’t place, but the angel wasn’t facing him. Sam wasn’t sure how that would have made a difference, but he was curious all the same. He decided not to ask, it was too silly. 

“So angels don’t sleep?” he whispered. 

“Nope.” Gabriel shrugged. “I can see the appeal though.”

“So you sleep?”

“Passes the time.”

“Like dropping people in wormholes?” Sam didn’t know what made him say it and judging by Gabriel’s surprised laugh, he didn’t either. 

“Not as much.”

For a split second, Sam envisioned them being friends and was oddly cheered by the thought. He tried to snap himself out of it. 

“Why did you help us today?” he asked. 

“I forgot to TiVo the L-Word.”

Sam sighed. ‘Typical. Every time I try to figure out who he is, he acts like a smartass.’

“Then quit asking.” It came out somewhat peevishly.

“I would if you’d just tell me.”

“Well I’d tell you if you didn’t wanna know so much.”

“Feels like I’m talking to Dean.”

“Ew, don’t compare me to your brother.”

“Then quit acting like him and stop answering my thoughts. Its creepy.”

“Good.” Came the sulky reply. 

Determined and knowing Gabriel would let the conversation fade if he didn’t, Sam pressed on.

“You know I’ll just keep asking until you tell me.”

“And, I’ll just keep deflecting.”

“I can be just as stubborn as you.” Sam had an idea. “Come on. You answer a question-honestly, then you get to ask me one and I’ll do the same.”

“Twenty questions?”

“Yeah, a game.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “What, am I, five?”

“Just a bit.”

“Alright, alright. If it’ll get you to shut up. Ask away.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
There was a faint tapping. Clary frowned. She had finally drifted off, a dream beginning to settle. Maybe Isabelle locked herself out? Clary groaned, stretching as she tried to rouse herself. Pushing off the covers, she couldn’t tell where Isabelle was at all and awareness was starting to come over her as she got out of bed. The tapping came again and Clary jumped. If came from the window and when she looked at it, she almost screamed. There, on the other side of the glass, prodding it with his fingers was Jace.   
Knowing it was him made the tension leak out of her and her shoulders slumped. Now that she knew who it was, there was no need to worry. Clary walked over and threw open the window. Jace shot her a grin as he clambered inside. It was a grin so familiar it made her heart ache. She felt like every girl in every love song as a boy snuck into her room in the middle of the night. When he straightened and spoke in a breathless tone.

“What, is it too late to use the front door?” she asked.

He smiled. “A little. What? Not happy to see me?”

Confused by his cheer, she asked. “Where have you been?”

He shrugged. “Oh an errand. I’ll tell you later, since I’ve got something more important to say.”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
“Favorite romantic comedy?"

“…Uh?” Thrown by the question, Sam racked his brain. “Uh…the Graduate…”

“That’s not a comedy.”

“Yeah well-”

Sam shook his head, aware of the method of distraction Gabriel was employing. However that didn’t stop him from answering anyway. 

“Alright fine, it’s The Holliday, but you’re not getting off the hook.” Sam found a question. “So what’s Michael like?” he asked. 

“Oh.” Gabriel huffed. “Stern, grouchy.” He smiled. “Well, not always. He used to laugh a lot, a lot more now that I think about it, when the four of us used to get along-” he cut himself off. His voice had a forcedness to it. “Ok, your turn. So I’m curious, who lost their virginity first, you or Dean?” 

Sam sputtered, face warm, and he was glad he didn’t pile the covers on. “W-well, I…uh” he cleared his throat. “D-Dean-obviously, but it wasn’t as far apart as you’d think.” He fidgeted. “Y-you said-” Sam cut himself off, trying a different tack. “Your vessel, how long have you…had it?” 

“Oh? Well let’s see, like ages. When I bailed and got to earth, you guys still thought Zeus was in charge.” 

Sam had a feeling he was paraphrasing, but he was interested all the same. Gabriel continued. 

“And I found this guy in a grove and wham, bam, thank you man, I had a meatsuit. Well.” He drawled. “I got it in my head to be a trickster. It sounded like fun, and I wanted to use my skills without anyone asking questions. I’d need to be something believable. Tricksters-real ones can do pretty much anything.” Gabriel thought for a moment. “So how’d you met that girl? Ah, Jessica right?”

Sam blinked. “At a class.” He cleared his throat. “We a statistics class, one of those ones that was for her major. She-she sat up a row ahead of me.” He laughed. “I remember, because I was annoyed by her hair. It was really long then, and it was getting in the way. I didn’t know her then though. Our friend Brady introduced us a couple of weeks later at a party. She made a mention that she was having trouble in statistics and I offered to tutor her. I just didn’t think that she’d take me up on it, but she did and one thing led to another and…” Sam cleared his throat. “So…uh what happened to the real Loki?”

________________________________________________________________________  
“I love you.” Jace said.

“What?” Clary gasped. 

Jace waved away her response with frantic hands and she shut the window behind him. 

“I know I said it before, but-” he ran a hand through his hair. “Just let me get this out while I still can. I love you.” He repeated. “I love you more than I thought possible and more than I have any right to. I know. At first I hated everything for it, wanted to hate you but I couldn’t and never will. You know, I don’t want to love anyone else, don’t even want to try-I’ve gotten nowhere when I did.” Emotions flitted to fast to be named. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never loved you the way I should. At first I thought it was because of the demon blood.” Clary flinched. “But it doesn’t matter-really it doesn’t, because I love you anyway. Can demons even love? Because I can, so now, I feel very hopeful you know. I can love, which is the best thing. Loving you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, made me a better person, so either way. …The only thing that I’ll regret is that I did get to spend as much time with you as I wanted. That’s what I thought before I came here, because we’ve never done this before.”

He smiled. “Just once. Let’s stay like this. Close our eyes and go to sleep. Even if it only happens once, you’re the first thing I’d like to see when I go to sleep and again when I wake up. Pretend that we’ve been doing it our whole lives.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”

He turned to leave and Clary’s heart clenched in terror at the concept. His back, so broad, was the roadmap of his soul and she wanted to travel down it for herself. 

“No.” she cried. “Wait just a moment.”

Jace paused, turning and the hope in his eyes was great enough that she almost cried out again. His body was graceful in mid turn, shafts of moonlight from the windows penetrating him, the illusion of angelic form made her shiver. It wasn’t the way it glossed over his muscles of the way the shadows behind him stretched like wings, but his smile. It lit him up from the inside out, vibrating with life. She could sense his life and that brought out a rush of excitement throughout her whole body. She became aware, really aware for the first time that this body was hers. 

Buzzing with intent. That this was wanted…no needed. The way that gravity is needed. She extended a hand, watching her fingers beckon as she walked back to the bed. She sat down, pulling the sheets back, the fabric alien to her over sensitive fingertips. Jace brought himself forward, leaning his face close to hers as if assessing something. Clary steeled her will as she looked her equal in the eyes, and humbled, Jace sunk to the ground. Clary sucked in a breath as his golden curls brushed her legs. He kissed her feet. She shook as full lips touched her toes, soft and promising to be the same elsewhere. When he looked back up at her, she could see his soul in his eyes and only one thought came to her, an unexpected strain of music.

‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.’ 

He held her in place with a gaze tighter than the embrace she was longing for. Her hands were shaking.

“Stay.” She whispered. “Yes stay please.”

She could feel his smile as he rested his cheek against her leg. They stayed that way for a few moments, letting it wash over them, becoming a memory even as it was happening. Readying itself to reconcile with the past. Jace’s hands moved upwards and Clary slid back to make room as Jace climbed into bed. He lay down with a sigh, as if to say, ‘finally’, he was where he belonged. As if led along by a string or a strand of Clary’s hair. They scooted close, on their sides facing each other, the way plants yearning for sunlight, or twins in the womb. Maybe it was gravity or magnets, the way their fingers lay side by side, tips just brushing each other. It charged like electricity, despite not moving. Clary wasn’t sure if she could sleep again, as she was aware of Jace beside her, of how her body was aware, screaming its nature at her. If they had countless nights, she would never sleep again, of that she was certain. As certain as that knowledge that she was leaving something behind-wanted to.

She swallowed, almost trembling too much to do that. Jace leaned forward until their foreheads were touching and he took his free hand, brushing her hair out of her face. The hot and cold went all over her face, like pins and needles. As if Jace had summoned them there with his touch. Her mouth was parched, tingling as if on fire. Her words tumbled like escape artists. 

“Never be sorry.” She panted. 

Jace kissed her.

Better than she imagined. Better than the sick, fevered sensations in the Seelie Court. Lips softer and defter than she remembered. The action more deliberate this time. Their mouths moved eagerly, but it wasn’t enough. Gravity wasn’t enough. Sensing this, her body moved of its own accord, pressing into Jace’s. However, it was languid, the slow burn of a candle after the initial matchstick’s spark. She didn’t care how dewy his lips were, his tongue was no intrusion to her and the press of his teeth was wonderful, their sharpness made a rumbling in her mouth. It was pulled out of her, her moan. It racked her frame, surprising in its urgency, snapping her instinct forward. Her instinct brought out his, he pressed back against her, nearly crushing her and Clary gasped as the semi-painful sensation brought another tremble to her. Jace was pulsing and next to her, familiar in a new way. His lips brushed her neck, fluttering her hair and up to her ear. She pictured his lips pushing to form words, sounds curling around to fit her flesh’s contours, suffusing them with color in the effort.

“Clary.”

He said it as if he had been running for miles, as if it was her name that filled his lungs instead of air. At the sound of this voice, a plummeting heat went straight to her groin. Her world began to collapse around her. Clary’s hand shot out to grab Jace. He didn’t need any more prompting as he grinded his hips against hers, more insistent with the motion. Jace mewled at the near-not-enough-ness and he sat up. At the sight of Jace astride her, her excitement grew. There was heaviness inside her and she glanced down at herself. Her nipples were hard, peeking through the gossamer night gown that lay against her in a way that gave more to her body. Primal and pleased that she had responded the way she always wanted to, gave another look at Jace. The way she could see his instinct, hard and distinct, waiting on her. 

As though from far away, she saw her hands grasp his belt buckle and led the steady way her fingers unclasped it. She tugged his pants down. Jace’s hands slowed hers, covering them as together they let his pants glide down and disappear like a magic trick as they pushed clothes aside. Clary leaned back, her weight on her elbows as Jace moved forward. He fingered the straps of her nightgown. She angled herself, shuddering happily as Jace’s fingers hovered over her breasts before playing with them. She whimpered in desire as his thumb and forefinger squeezed and rubbed her nipples. He kept at it for a few moments before they descended, traveling past her navel, and pressing into her hipbones. 

They branded her, so hot she shivered. It was a teasing touch as they brushed the silk, inching to the hem before tugging the material up and over Clary. She said a brief goodbye to it as it disappeared out of her line of sight and she watched her hair flutter from the impact of the fabric. He stared down at her for a moment, hand back at her waist and it took her a moment to realize that she no longer wore any panties. He was seeing all of her. She leaned back even farther, waiting and loving the effect she was having. Jace stroked her cheek, thumb brushing her lips. Then he moved like a ship sailing into port and Clary wrapped a leg around his waist as he let himself be anchored.   
She couldn’t help crying out. There was no question of where he was and for a moment Clary froze, unsure of what to do next. Sudden seizing pain wrapping around her, so sharp and overwhelming in its reality. She squealed, not quite wanting to believe in the pain, but Jace waited for a moment, letting it subside before he slowly began to move. Her next whimper transitioned into a moan as she moved in the same rhythm. At first the speed was easy, as they learned to match paces and Clary felt a slow build in her body, something dizzying and expanding, making her muscles shake against her will. Like someone dropped a bomb in her body, sending a fizzing in her atoms, the rippling inside her getting stronger. 

Her throat began to ache as she couldn’t control how her voice was beginning to get louder, ripping her apart in an effort to leave her body. Jace tried to shush her, and any words he might have said just became senseless noise himself, succumbing to his own vocals. It was getting too much and not enough. She lifted her hips higher, pushing harder, chasing the edges of pain that rubbed the edges of her nub. Her insides needing to go faster as Jace responded to her pace. Clary shouted out nonsense, not paying attention to the sounds, only Jace’s name ringing in her mind, and found behind her eyelids. Clary’s head bobbed up and down, the rest of her doing the same thing.   
Jace’s pace suddenly became frantic. His voice huffed out, ragged and as loud as Clary. She watched his buttocks move in a piston-like speed, muscles furious like some great mechanical beast. Clary’s legs went wider and hooked over his hips, eager to bring down as deep as he could get, almost in despair when at the end. Need made her slam up and it continued to spiral higher. Her back almost completely lifted off the bed, hips still bucking as her spine started to go stiff. It went into one great shuddering movement, as Jace quivered and they tumbled back into the mattress. Jace thrust faster, heaving uncontrolled pants as he could no longer catch his breath. He broke rhythm, pace too hard to track, but it built up her own up as she began to shudder from the wet that was surrounding her. Clary was unable to contain herself as she felt herself meld seamlessly into his moment. 

Jace’s abdomen clenched in sudden violence as he abruptly stiffened all over, quivering inside her, his shaft vibrating with irrepressible, impossible to deny –paralyzed as his orgasm overcame him, shooting down into her and triggering her own. The force of it arched her upwards into on final impalement and rocketed her into spasms that felt like fireworks ad her body was overcome. Warmth filled and flooded her up. Her eyes rolled up inside her head as she gave one final cry.   
Not wanting to give in or lose the connection, she grabbed onto Jace, gripping him tight as she rode out her climax. The aftershocks of one reverberated into the other, sending happy trembles into each other. It sparked the desire anew inside Clary, yet her muscles were too exhausted to do so. Jace gave one final thrust, a final squeeze before relaxing. He lay against her and to Clary, the weight was pleasant. He didn’t pull out, but Clary liked that. That with every small move or hum of his body, and she could feel it.   
She was exhausted now, but blissfully so. The option, the idea that she could be taken again was exciting, but a part of her knew that there would be soreness. She could feel it already and when Jace finally moved, she gave a small noise of protest. It was abruptly quieted by a kiss as Jace wrapped his arms around her. Like an unsung lullaby, something hung heavy in the air, but Clary was too content to pay it any mind.

________________________________________________________________________  
“What’s with you and wormhole’s?” he laughed. “Ok that’s not my real question. What I really want to know is…” he sobered. “Why did you help us?”

“Go to sleep Winchester.”

“No seriously.”

Gabriel sighed. “Because I happen to like this planet and because I like-” he thought for a moment. “What I told Lucifer was the truth and I just wanted to get the record straight.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel snapped. “Don’t believe me?”

Sam was too tired to hold up his hands. “Yeah, it’s just nice to hear you be honest. Thanks for that by the way. I’m still not sure why you did it.”

“What? Be honest? Because I can when I feel like it, which I did.” He said it very quickly.

Sam smiled at the display, knowing those last words were probably the least truthful of the night. The archangel that reminded him of a rubix cube kicked him in the shin.

“Now go to sleep.”

Sam did.  
________________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	9. White Stone Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, if you know em’ I don’t own em’. Don’t worry, I’ll give em back.   
> Warnings: Torture of demons, familial angst, violence, brief hustling, vampire issues, and non-con mind wipe.  
> AN: Sorry about the late-ness-had some technical trouble but here it is in time for ya'll's lovely holidays. This is as much a breather episode (blatant lies!) as a supernatural fic can get. Same as TMI too. Characters from Holly Black’s Tithe-verse show up. Hope you enjoy   
> Word count: 17,626

As Idris passed through the night, its future uncertain and grim. Halfway across the world, one was still awake, just as worried. Meanwhile in New York City, affairs continued to be carried out in the city that never sleeps. That was true for hunters as well as the rest of the producers, shakers, and captains of industry. Simon wondered what was happening, feeling as cut off as he could in his room, and his ceiling was unfamiliar to him.

Jo and Ellen were staying in some cheap motel, leaving him with his brewing ideas. It had been a couple of days since Clary had left, taking a piece of him with her. In the meantime, the holding down of the fort was easy to do. Hence why he was in his room, but the lack of communication from Idris was becoming worrisome. Ellen and Jo were brainstorming.

“I should be with them.” Simon said aloud. 

He had been trying to do normal things; go to school, leave the house with friends, but it was harder than he anticipated. The hour dragged by. Now that he could walk in the daylight, he could actually do things. He didn’t have to worry his mother by pretending to be sick, dreading a doctor’s appointment. School had just begun, the hours even more grueling as his cravings didn’t listen to his schedule. After all, he couldn’t just pull out a bag of blood to snack on in class could he? No, he had to wait until he became pale and shaky, to sneak into the bathroom, rushing into the stall, and rummage through his backpack for his blood. 

Blood was somewhat easy to get now that he knew how to get it. Magnus introduced him to a butcher with The Sight, a hedgewitch that lived in Greenwich Village. Now that he didn’t have to rely on Magnus to get his blood, the only trouble was to get away to get it. His mother, who was usually so laid back, was now suspicious of his every move. That in turn, made Simon jumpy and quick to make excuses. He hated lying to his mother, to his friends, who he blew off when his thirst got too bad for him to go anywhere. 

‘Well hindsight is twenty- twenty.’ He thought with a grimace.

His idea, more solid than before since his inspiration left with a smattering of downworlders had given to him. They had finally reached a boiling point. Simon grabbed his phone and headed for the door.   
___________________  
Jo Harvelle brushed a clutch of curls out of her face as she padded down the halls of the Beth Israel hospital, ghosting past the bustling day shift of nurses and patients. For all intents and purposes, she was invisible as she walked past the nurse’s station, taking the stairs, and flitting into the desired room. Visiting hours be damned. Jocelyn was laid out on the bed like sleeping beauty, red hair fanning out on her pillow. 

“Hey there. How you doing?” Jo asked.

She never felt silly when she spoke to the woman, as she had been doing for the past couple of days. Jo had taken it upon herself to check on Jocelyn in Clary’s absence. If their position’s had been reversed, she’d want someone to look in on her mother. Besides it gave her something to do, as it was too quiet on the front. Suspiciously so and it made her think that Sam was correct when he said the devil was in Idris. 

As for New York City, for such a large place, it was difficult to find any jobs. Probably because shadowhunters policed things so tightly. Any other time it would have made Jo grateful, but now with nothing to burn off her energy it was a nuisance. So that was another reason she was at Jocelyn’s bedside. She looked so helpless, so doll-like in her borrowed bed. She had an IV hooked into her, but she was breathing on her own, chest rising in a steady little rhythm. Jo stared, sitting down in the hard plastic chairs that really needed to be replaced. She’d stay for an hour, as she had the schedule memorized and no nurse made the rounds on this floor when Jo came in. 

After a few minutes she went up and into the bathroom to splash a little water on her face. Jo stared at herself in the mirror, watching the way her eyes moved as the water dripped down her chin. She jumped; a door had clattered open and someone stepped through. Jo’s guard went up at the surprise, which grew at the content of the stranger’s voice. Sharp and mocking.

“Well, hey there. Long time no see, you old bitch.” A pause, as if listening to an imaginary reply. “Yeah, that must suck, but you know what?” The voice lowered. “Your little slut of a daughter? She’s never gonna see you again.”

Jo crouched low, pulling the knife from her boot and not daring to breathe too loud. Machines beeped in shrill alarm as the subtle snicking of tubes being pulled and moved beneath the increasing frantic monitors. Someone was unhooking Jocelyn. Definitely not a nurse. Jo edged closer to the door, trying to peer through the crack. The bed creaked with additional weight, groaning under the strain. She lifted the knife higher and got a closer look. A woman wearing nurses’ scrubs was straddling Jocelyn, pressing a pillow into her face. She couldn’t move, unaware of what was being done to her. Jo bared her teeth. With a firm grip on her knife, she pulled back the door, and took the nurse at a flying tackle. Jo crashed into her, pulling her arm back and bringing the knife down, burrowing it into the nurse’s shoulder. The nurse thrashed and Jo hooked her arm below the woman’s neck, barring her sternum with enough force to get a gasp in response. She bucked in an effort to throw Jo off. Jo pressed down hard and the combined weight made the bed shudder as they tussled on top of Jocelyn, who was absolutely still. Jo’s free hand scattered wildly, knocking the pillow aside and it fell to the floor. The nurse tried to pull the knife out of her shoulder, but Jo was quicker, driving the blade in deeper.

The nurse turned her head, almost impossibly. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

“Same to you.” Jo growled. 

“No. You really shouldn’t be here.” The nurse’s eyes turned black. 

Jo rattled off the exorcism, wrapping the demon in her arms as it lashed out. It threw its head back at the sound of the Latin, screaming as the black smoke wrenched itself out of the nurse’s mouth. The thick column of it travelled upwards, twisting as it forced its way through a ventilation shaft above Jocelyn’s bed. It broke the vent’s cover off its hinges and clattered to the ground, narrowly missing Jocelyn’s head.

The nurse leaned back, her weight falling on Jo. Grunting, she gently disentangled herself from the nurse, who was beginning to come to. 

“Uuurgh.” She moved muzzily. “…Wha...wha…t happened?” 

She turned and realized she had a knife in her shoulder, and began to wake faster, panic in her voice.

“Oh God. Oh-oh…oh…oh God. Wha-what’s-” she started to scream.

Jo pulled back her fist and hit the nurse in the face. The woman slumped, eyes rolling in her head before her eyelashes fluttered shut as she fell into unconsciousness. Jo lay her on the bed beside Jocelyn, careful to keep her on her stomach. Jo went to the window, peeking through it before closing the blinds.

‘Not much time. Shit.’ 

Jo went over to the nurse, pulling the sheets away from her body, keeping them on hand. She put one hand on the nurse’s shoulder to brace as Jo grabbed the knife handle in the other and yanked hard. The nurse groaned once before falling silent. Jo let the knife drop and put the sheets to the wound, applying pressure. Blood soaked through, drenching her hands. It was a little deeper than she thought. Her eyes locked on the doors, breathing through her nose, heart pounding too loudly. 

‘No cameras in this room, farther away from the nurse’s station and even further away from ICU. Emergency is on the ground floor, morgue in the basement, and probably not too far from security. At least the psych ward is upstairs. How long ago did she leave the nurses’ station?'

Jo looked underneath the sheets and was relieved to see the bleeding had finally stopped. Unfortunately, the wound would need stitches. She probably didn’t have much time to do them herself. She put the sheets back on. The amount of blood couldn’t be easily concealed; only one sheet remained clean by some miracle. Jo rummaged through the cabinets, finding a small suture kit for the nurse and dredging up a few more supplies for Jocelyn. She stuffed them in her bag, and then set to work on the nurse. It was a messy patchwork, not her best at all, but it’d have to do. Jo went into the bathroom to clean up. She wiped down her prints and scrubbed at any blood she could find. She needed to get rid of the bloody sheets and hide them somewhere. A bit of blood had gotten on her jacket, too dark to clean. She shed it, along with her top shirt, leaving only the tank top beneath it. She bundled them together with the sheets and stuffed them in her bag. Now for Jocelyn. 

Jo went to the older woman, who was still lying on the bead, head lolling. She was halfway underneath the nurse and Jo had to use her arm like a carjack, putting it beneath Jocelyn shoulders to brace as she used her other hand to tug at Jocelyn’s hips. Jo tugged hard, careful not to jostle the nurse. Jo spread her feet apart, digging her heels into the linoleum and Jocelyn moved, coming out from under the nurse. Jo moved closer and lifted with her legs as Jocelyn’s full weight came down on her. She grunted as she struggled to get a good hold of Jocelyn; the older woman’s legs hit the metal side bar of the bed. So Jo used her hands to pull Jocelyn’s legs closer to her. Now freed, Jocelyn, with no support other than Jo, collapsed on top of the younger woman and it took a few minutes to get Jocelyn into one of the plastic chairs. 

Jo went over and situated the nurse to the center of the bed, pulling the covers over her, and stepping back. Jo opened the door a fraction. The hallway was empty. 

‘But for how long?’ she bit her lip. ‘If there was one, there’s probably more. Hell, maybe half the staff at least. Either way, someone will come looking. If they were sent to kill Jocelyn, they know about Clary. Chances are they know more than we do.’ 

Jo went to the room’s window, opening it and looking down. It was at least three stories up. Not enough to kill but break something, even if the person was unable to tense their body. 

‘Crap, I can’t do this by myself.’ 

Jo pulled out her cell phone.  
_____________________

Simon felt his phone buzz in his pocket, insistent and heavy. He shifted in his seat. Simon let it go. Turning in his seat, he rested his elbows on his desk. He had already been late for classes, teachers glaring whenever he came into the room in the middle of their lectures. His phone buzzed again, loud enough for the entire class to hear. It kept going, uncaring of the stares and giggles. The teacher in particular glowered at him. 

“Some pressing matter Mr. Lewis? Somewhere to be?” 

Clary’s face flashed in Simon’s mind and he clenched his fists. Simon gave a hopeless little laugh as his phone vibrated anew. He tried to take it discreetly out of his pocket, but he was being scrutinized by the whole class. Jo’s name flashed on the caller ID and a snap of shivers went through him. Simon clambered out of his desk, grabbing his backpack. 

“Yeah actually.” He called to his teacher as he raced out the door.

He ignored the flabbergasted reply and the jeering of his classmates. He raced down the hall and flipped open his phone and Jo spoke before he got the chance to.

“About time you answered. I’m in deep shit.”

“What? Talk to me.”

“Demons are at the hospital. One just tried to kill Jocelyn.”

Simon took the stairs two and three at a time, going out a side exit, coming out to the parking lot and past the track. 

“Are you guys ok?”

“Yeah, we’re alright, but it’s not safe here anymore. I need you to get a car and pick us up, because I can’t lug Jocelyn around all by myself.”

“O-ok, how?”

“I dunno-just swipe some keys or hotwire one. Just hurry, we’ll rehash when you get here.”

Jo hung up without preamble but Simon understood. If demons were targeting Jocelyn, chances were they were doing the same to Clary. 

______________________________________________  
Simon’s breath rattled heavily in his chest, despite not needing to breathe. Eric’s van in front of him, the keys that he lifted from Eric’s jacket hot and slippery in his hand. Simon’s head darted back and forth, but he was the only one in the parking lot. He unlocked the van. Simon clambered into the front seat, slamming the door and starting the car. The radio blared to life, base thumping an aggressive strain of rock n’ roll. Simon jumped, struggling with the controls. He gritted his teeth; it was the only sound in the parking lot. 

He narrowly avoided hitting a car turning, which blared its horn in exaggerated anger. Simon gripped the wheel tight as he sped to his destination, blowing through at least three stoplights, and swerving around midday traffic. He swore as he drove over a curb to the Beth Israel hospital, parking haphazardly in between two spaces. Deja-vu assaulted him as he flipped open his phone and dialed Jo. She picked up on the first ring. 

“I’m here at the back parking lot. I’ve got a van.”

“Great, Thanks! Be by the window in Jocelyn’s room. It’s on the third floor, the middle one. It’ll be open. Stay on the line.”

“Kay.”

“It’s on the south edge of the building.”

Simon nodded even though he knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. He could feel his legs pump, but the familiar ache was gone. He stayed away from sight, trying to find the open window. 

“Simon, here.”

He looked up in time to see her blonde head pop out. She waved him over, face tense with what he was beginning to recognize as a rock-in-a-hard-place game face. Simon stood below the window, fingers closing the phone shut and stuffing it in his pocket. 

“Catch!”

Before he could ask, she pulled out of the window and another woman was put in her place. Simon’s noise of strangled disbelief was cut short out of necessity as Jo began to push Jocelyn through the window. The older woman’s head swung eyes still closed, unaware as her limbs hung limp. They moved only on Jo’s direction as she tried to maneuver Jocelyn without losing her grip. She seemed heavy, slow to move as Jo got her into position. The blonde kept one arm around Jocelyn to prevent her from leaning too far to edge of the windowsill. In any other situation, it could have just looked like a woman lounging and enjoying the outside. Simon ignored the sinking feeling that eyes were watching them, certain someone would stop them. He stared up.

He spread his arms wide just as Jo’s limbs outstretched out with the force of the push. His neck cricked, making him dizzy, vision tunneling as Jocelyn tumbled. Her limbs lacked direction, doing nothing to brace for impact as they flopped against gravity. Her red hair hit her in the face, each strand lit like fire to Simon’s vampire eyes. Despite only being three stories, Jocelyn’s lack of resistance made her fall faster and gave more weight to her as she crashed right into Simon’s waiting arms. The impact sent him reeling, barely able to close his arms around Jocelyn before he went sprawling to the ground, Jocelyn prostrate over him. He groaned, hearing a sudden burst of giggles from above. He squinted up to look at Jo, who was leaning out, unable to help herself form calling out.

“Not every day a woman’s laying on top of you, huh Lewis?” 

Simon opened his mouth for a retort, the surname Fray on the tip of his tongue before he remembered who he was talking to. He cleared his throat. 

“Ok, what now?”

Jo sobered. “Now it’s my turn.”

Simon nodded briskly and began to move, wriggling out from under Jocelyn. He rolled her away from him, stood up, and rushed to the window. Jo ducked through, gripping the ledges of the sill with tight knuckles as her boots struggled to tread the brick wall. He remembered how her arms stretched out just a moment ago, luminous despite being halfway in the shaded florescent lighting. 

Now Jo looked down, eyes sweeping over her leap. Simon gestured for her to hurry and she leapt. Jo bent her knees, keeping them steady as her arms flailed. She was as silent as Jocelyn, her blonde hair fanning behind her like a pennant. The expression on her face would be burned in Simon’s mind forever. Eyes wide in concentration, as if absorbing all she needed and seeing him in the same way he saw her. Her mouth only opened once, but Simon couldn’t tell if she was speaking or not. Jo fell against him, sending him staggering. As soon as he caught her, she wrapped her arms around him, bracing as her legs shout out to keep them from collapsing. Jo pulled him back when he swayed, his hands tight on her. The two swayed out the momentum.

Simon could smell Jo’s shampoo, her thick hair surrounding him, tangling in his lips. Her heart beating rapidly next where his would, pumping lusty blood to the rest of her body. Overwhelmed by the sudden idea of her blood so close by, rich in scent and probably even more so in taste. He cleared his throat and Jo pulled away. Simon gestured to Jocelyn. 

“What now?” 

“We’ve got to move her. Did you park close by?”

“Yeah.” Simon moved to Jocelyn, picking up her legs. “There were only a couple of other cars out there.”

“Good.”

Together, they lifted Jocelyn up. Ducking low, they used bushes for cover as the two carried her in the grass, pulling sharply back whenever a camera was spotted. It was slow going as patients and staff alike walked past. When Simon pointed out the van, as they hid themselves in a corner. They waited for a nurse to go back into a side entrance before trying to bolt across the parking lot, legs stomping as Jocelyn lurched in between them. Simon thought of native hunters carrying a pig on a stick, so Lord of the Flies that he had to bite back hysterical laughter. They shuffled beside the door and Simon unlocked the large sliding side door. Jo pushed forward and Simon leapt back, nearly tripping as he tried to get himself and his half of Jocelyn inside at the same time. 

“Go go go go.” Jo urged.

Simon tumbled inside as Jo pushed herself in. As soon as Jocelyn was secure, he feet inches from the door as Jo slammed it shut. Simon scrambled into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life and Jo grabbed Jocelyn tight to keep her from sliding. There were no seats, just the space for the band’s equipment. Most were in cases to protect them, but that didn’t stop them from being over turned due to Simon’s speeding. He held back his panic in order to focus on what Jo was saying. 

“So where do we go?”

“That motel eight next to the overpass. It’s by one of the numbered streets, down on-”

“Yeah, I think I know where that is.”

Jo gave him directions anyway. She scooted closer to the driver’s seat, making sure a wayward guitar case didn’t fling out at them as Simon swerved down a street. They pulled into the parking lot of the motel, its tall sign dark and silent. Simon let them out and Jo ran up to the room door, rapping hard as Simon waited by the van. The door creaked an inch, but once it was known who was knocking the door was thrown back wide. Ellen took one look at Jo’s expression and assumed the worst. 

“What’s happened?”

Ellen looked from Jo to Simon, who slid the van door to reveal Jocelyn.

“I’ll explain.”  
__________________________  
She did. Once inside Jo began with her visit and elaborating on how she fought off the nurse and ending with their escape from the parking lot. 

“I’m pretty sure that some of the other staff are possessed and if killing Jocelyn was on the to-do list, they must be pretty confident that whatever’s happening in Idris is to their advantage."

“Maybe.” Ellen said, but nodded all the same. “We don’t have enough to know what that is.”

“You haven’t heard from them?” Simon asked. 

Ellen’s voice was tight. “No.”

“One thing that bothers me.” Jo said. “Demons or not, us kidnapping a hospital patient is something they have to report, especially since I’m sure I’ve been recorded on camera.” 

Simon’s eyes widened as she continued. 

“So that’s one place we can’t go back to, which might have been their intention all along.”

“To pin us down.” Ellen stated. “You think this is a trap.”

“Wait wait wait. They know you guys are here?” Simon asked.

“In all probability” Ellen said. “Which is why we should stake out the institute. See what comes out of the woodwork.” She continued at Simon’s look of confused worry. “This is probably our only chance to see what’s really happening.”

Simon nodded. “I’ll come with you.” He fidgeted. “That brings me to my idea.”

Both women stared at him expectantly. Simon cleared his throat. 

“Well, I have this idea. Magnus and Luke kinda gave it to me. When they heard Clary went to Idris that it was in danger. They got reinforcements right? Not just Sam and Dean and them, but downworlders too. I thought if they could do that why not me? So want to do my part. I want to rally the vampires.”

After a few minutes Jo spoke. “Not the ones that nearly killed and turned you? We barely got out of there as it is.”

Simon paused, deflated briefly before looking back at Jo with a determined look. “I know which is why we go in prepared. We’ve got two hunters and a vampire that can walk in the sun. So yeah, I think we got a chance. Besides we need all the help we can get and I want to help.”

At those last words, Ellen’s gaze softened. She took a breath then nodded.

“Alright then. However, we should do it after the institute, to gain more information.” She became even more serious. “If your plan becomes too dangerous, if they don’t agree, we will have to fight our way out. If that happens, we won’t go back, understand?”

Simon nodded. “Yes ma’am.” 

Jo cleared her throat. “Also-what do we do with Jocelyn? I mean she was attacked and it’s probable that it’ll happen again. We can’t leave her here defenseless. So my idea, is what if we found a way to wake her up?”

Simon was almost tempted to say, ‘Don’t worry, Clary is taking care of it.’

He realized that might not be true. He swallowed hard. If that was the case, then if it was his mother, he would want to see her looked after, not left behind. As if sensing his thoughts, Jo added.

“I know if it was my mom, I’d want someone to help her.”

At this Ellen squeezed Jo’s shoulder and Simon had a feeling that the gesture would have lasted longer if the situation wasn’t so grim. 

“Then how?” Ellen asked. “Her coma is downworlder magic in origin, which means we’ll need someone who knows someone. Any contacts for that?” her last question directed at Simon, who shrugged.

“I’ll go downworld, ask around.”

Ellen nodded. “Then let’s get started. 

The three formed their plan. The first thing they agreed on was that it would be too dangerous to go to the institute without all three of them, but since Jocelyn needed protection she would have to be cured first. 

“So what’s the best place in downworld to get info?” Ellen asked.

Simon shrugged. “Well downworlders have to hide in plain sight, because they try to blend in with humans. So what’s a good place to get info in general?”

“A bar.” Jo said. 

Ellen nodded and turned to Simon. “Although, people who have to live off grid can recognize one of their own and have exclusive places for themselves. Know any places like that?”

“Hang on, lemme think…wait, Freaky Pete’s-the werewolf bar, and-”Simon slapped a hand to his forehead. “Of course, why didn’t I think of it sooner? Pandemonium. It’s an all-ages nightclub that’s popular with both mundanes and downworlders.”

Jo nodded. “Then let’s try them.”

Simon nodded back. “We’ll split up. I’ll go see Pete and you go to Pandemonium. I’d say the other way around, but…well anyway, I know where it is.” He rattled off the addresses.

“I guess that leaves me with Jocelyn.” Ellen said, not without some irritation. “Well, someone has to do it. Just keep in touch.”  
_____________________

Simon made his way to the Hunter’s Moon easier than expected. He walked down the alley where he knew Maia to have walked, to have witnessed a gruesome murder that ultimately took her own life. It was still the same shoddy walkway, littered with debris of drunken, frayed lives that are unacknowledged by many. It reeked of sex, spilled beer, wet dog, glass, iron, sweat, and old blood. Trash blew and glittered on the ground, illuminated by the starry sky. Simon wondered if Maia saw it like this. Had been terrified on a night like this, in a place that was comforting in its trashiness, its roughness. In a place that was comforting and oddly beautiful for a dive. Simon‘s eyes stung, unable to truly describe what was happening to him, only knowing that Maia was a sweet girl.   
That thought was what gave Simon the strength to open the side entrance and push his way inside. The bar was the same too. Same smoky, low-key, rough n’ tumble atmosphere. The décor hadn’t changed either, but then Simon hadn’t expected it to. It was quiet, only a few patrons sitting at the booths. A lone wolf at the bar, passed out at his stool and behind the counter washing a glass was Freaky Pete. He looked up when he heard the door open and when he saw Simon he sensed what had come through his bar. Freaky Pete’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing as Simon sat down on a stool. He didn’t stop cleaning his glass. 

“You look a little young to be in here.” He said. 

“I don’t want a drink.” Simon replied. “Besides I can’t anyway. Not legal.”

Freaky Pete raised his eyebrows at the honesty and his soft voice tinged with impatience. 

“Then what are you doing here, little vampire?” 

“I need your help. Some downworld news.”

Freaky Pete stared at him with weary eyes. “…And because I’m a downworlder, I know these things?” 

Simon chose his next words carefully. “No…because my friend Maia is dead and I want to give her justice. I was there-on the ship. I bet you know that. I bet everyone does.”

At these words, Freaky Pete slowly set the glass down and Simon noted that his hands were shaking, but when he looked at Simon his gaze was clear and steady. Simon felt his respect for the werewolf rise and he would not let himself look away. 

“Then you best tell me what happened.”

So Simon did.  
_______________________________________

The pulsing lights of the nightclub hurt Jo’s eyes, putting her on the edge. The heated press of the clubber’s bodies was almost sensuous. Remixed trance music’s pounding base made the floors shudder. Glitter stuck to the probably alcoholic liquid that had been trampled on. Someone already handed bright white tablets to her with a bland smile and a wink. A girl wearing nothing but glowsticks was speaking to a boy that held a large plastic ball that he tossed to the crowd, and then the song abruptly changed into a heavier beat.   
She could see why people liked these places. Back when during her brief college days, tenuous girlfriends took her along with them to clubs before they realized they had nothing in common. She unnerved them with her knife collection and obscure myths. The rhythm of the club still stayed with her though, the memory of how to move settling over her like a second skin, almost like the way it was on a hunt. With her mind on her mission and her mission her mind, she began to look for downworlders. It really depended on where you looked, if you knew what to look for-and Jo did. Eyes too vivid a color, a shimmer that had nothing to do with sweat, or just an otherness.   
Jo moved her body, hips going in a slow grind. Letting herself brush against bodies, feeling their own touches and becoming heated with it. The only thing she let sharpen was her mind, allowing limbs to appear limp. The silver and iron a comforting weight against her, especially as she felt a hand stroke her ass and a voice croon in her ear.

“Lovely maiden. Come, melt into me.”

Jo’s mind stuttered, shorting out for a moment at the blissful blankness that was beginning to engulf her. The telltale shivering in her gut snapped her out of it, telling her to pay attention, and not sink down. She turned around, letting her body undulate like it was balancing a hula hoop. The boy…man was pretty, almost beautiful. With skin that was smooth as a girls’ and as airbrushed as a models’. He had nice proportion, especially in the face. A slim nose, thin eyebrows, thick eyelashes, full lips, and eyes so blue that they were almost violet. Her gut trembled again as his hands pinched her bum lightly before pulling her close by the belt loops of her jeans. She briefly glanced down at his hands. There was something wrong with them, as if they had their texture photo shopped and she knew she’d get dizzy if she continued to stare. The veins in his hands squirmed as if he had vines beneath his skin. Between each finger there was slight webbing at the base of each digit, enough to cling the finger together if they wanted. His fingernails were clean and painted with a soft sheen of polish. She didn’t need the sight to know this was a faerie. 

‘Gotcha.’

Jo gave him a liquid smile and pressed close, grinding into him until she could hear the intake of his breath shift into something quicker. Her gripped her harder, more insistent. He nodded his head in a direction on the left and Jo played the part of the glamoured mundane and followed him down the employees entrance. Without preamble he slammed her into the wall, writhing against her, hands roving over her jeans. Her breath hitched as he unbuttoned her pants, and his fingernails lightly scratching her as they undid her zipper.

“N-no wait.”

He nuzzled into her neck. “Whatever for?”

“I-I don’t even know your name.”

She could feel his minor stirring before grinning against her cheek. “Call me your Pleasure.”

Jo pitched her giggle. “Fine I will.”

She bucked her hips and mewled. She blinked slowly, giving him a glazed expression as she made her breathing fluttery and let her chest heave. Pleasure leered at the display and then threw his head back and laughed as Jo made her cries louder. She grabbed him firmly by the shoulder, yanking him down to her and placed another hand on the front of his pants. She gave the bulge a squeeze and began to rub the spot vigorously, feeling it increase to ridiculous lengths. He groaned, thrusting into her hand, trying to get to the rest of her. 

His finger played with her thighs, pinching high beneath the zipper. It made her squirm, but she kept a good grip on him and he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, hot breath panting against her skin. Another waved of dizziness overcame her and she struggled not to let her thoughts gloss over. She had the impression of a small voice in the back of her mind soothing her, trying to keep her from speaking. It was harder for her eyes to stay open and focused. A bolt of fear snapped her eyes open. Her breathing came out in short pants, breasts pressing against his chest, hyper aware of the fabric of his shirt-that it flickered in and out. Whatever he was truly wearing tearing at the flannel of her shirt. 

It snapped her back into awareness. She didn’t know how he’d be able to tell that she snapped out of his glamour, so she grabbed him hard enough that his next yelp was one of pain. Her grip was firm enough on his generous bulk that when she spun him around, she led him like a dog on a leash, and she slammed him against the wall. With her free hand she pulled out the long bar of cold blessed iron and pressed it against his crotch.

His eyes narrowed in fury, the violet hue suddenly brighter and the pupils narrowed into catlike slits. She tried not to stare directly at them, feeling her mind becoming woozy when she tried. He smirked when he saw the effect he was having and her subsequent fury cleared her head. When he tried to move, she pressed the bar harder against him and he hissed out his words like a curse. 

“Shadowhunter.”

“Easy guy or I unzip your pants.”

“Well what can I do for you?” He drawled. 

“Well, it would give me a lot of pleasure if you told me all you know about cursebreaking.”  
__________________________________________

“So why do you think I know this?”

They sat in Freaky Pete’s office, the drink in Simon’s hands only a customary politeness as the desk between them as loud as a shout. 

“Well you’ve met all kinds of people, so I figured that you’d know…some things.”

“Well as flattering as that is I’m afraid I don’t know too much.”

“Anything you know anything at all. Please.”

Freaky Pete sighed. “Alright. It depends on the curse. Usually the best in the business are warlocks or one of the fey, but not too sure I know anyone willing to help…”

“Not even to save the world?”

The werewolf ran a hand through his thinning hair and for a split second he looked like Luke, weary and worn. A much older man than Simon originally thought. Someone who had seen too for too little peace of mind. Simon wondered if he would look like that one day, unable to do anything but care. Freaky Pete nodded heavily. 

“Not even then. It’s shameful, I know, but sometimes I can’t really blame them. They-we-have every right to be angry, to mistrust them. The way they want the world to be doesn’t have room for us.” He shook his head. “I wish I could say that I don’t understand why, but I do.”

Simon mutely shook his head. Scenes of destruction ran before his eyes. It dragged on; angry people falling one by one until he could no longer tell who was who.

‘Enough.’

“Yeah well thanks for your time.”

As he made to leave Freaky Pete grabbed his arm.

“Hey, be careful out there, it’s getting tense.”

“I will.”  
_________________________________________________________

“So he’s called The Fixer?”

“Yes.” Pleasure gasped. “He helps the mundanes, ones who had dealings with the fey.”

“Who is he?”

“A mortal with the sight.”

“Where can I find him?”

A wheezy chuckle. “He finds you.  
”  
Jo pressed the iron harder. Pleasure yelled. “I-I don’t know, I swear!”

“Well that sucks.” Jo adjusted the iron as if she was going to impale him with it. “This is gonna be a real bitch then.”

“Wait!” Pleasure screeched. “I can show you who does!” he held up his hands. “Follow me.” 

Jo let Pleasure lead her down the hall to the bathrooms. The unisex symbol cracked with age. He pushed the door open, flinching at the iron pressed against him as Jo kept him tightly in place by the wrists. They went inside. It was filthy. Cracked ceramic tiles covered in stains, old bottles, and ratty wires. He nodded to a stall door that was scrawled with graffiti and Jo squinted to see what he was pointing at. Black block letters nestled in between a badly drawn picture of male anatomy and ‘Gwen and Stacie 4eva’. It read: 

Page the Fixer: 555-1327 

Jo glanced back at Pleasure. He nodded eagerly. 

“Yes yes.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “If you’re screwing with me-”

“A faerie cannot tell an untruth.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can still find you.”

“You nephilim.” He spat. “You think you can own the world-”

Jo cut him off. “I’m not nephilim.”

Pleasure searched her face and as realization dawned, so did an incredulous and angry laughter, sharp in her ears. 

“I-Impossible. A mundane?!”

“Oh, I’m a hell of lot more than that.”

Jo punched him in the groin and as he doubled over, delivered a right hook to his jaw, knocking him unconscious. Pleasure tumbled backwards, crashing past the door, rattling it as he landed next to the toilet, his limbs akimbo as his head smacked the bowl’s rim. 

Jo walked out.  
_______________________________________________

As Simon and Jo met back up in the parking lot, going over what they learned as Ellen buckled Jocelyn into the backseat of the car. 

“So a number on a stall is the only real lead we’ve got?” Ellen asked.

“Yes.” Jo frowned. I know it’s not much to go on, but it’s all we’ve got.”

“Can’t hurt to try.” Simon piped up.

Ellen gave a reluctant nod. Ellen pulled out her phone, tapping the keys and putting it on speaker. An automated voice chirped loudly in the air.

“Hit the pound key. Then dial the number.”

“A pager?” Simon asked. 

Ellen nodded. They waited, not speaking, before the phone suddenly started to ring and Ellen flipped the phone open, the speaker still on. 

“Who is this? How’d you get this number?”

The voice was crisp with something like suspicion. Simon and Jo exchanged at look. 

“Are you The Fixer?” Ellen asked. 

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“I heard you can break curses.”

A pause and the voice was weary. “Yeah.”

“Where can we meet?”

Another sigh. “Look it’s late-”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency. You’re the only one who can help us.”

“Fine. Riverside drive on the Upper West Side.” 

“Thank you.”

The Fixer hung up.  
____________________________________________

When they finally got there, Simon peered up at the building. An old, almost gothic structure, with its dark apartments looking more imposing next to the other complexes. 

“You sure this is the place? Pretty fancy…”

“It’s what he said.” Jo replied, shrugging. 

Helping Ellen get Jocelyn out of the car, they made their way to the building. Walking up the porch steps with the two pillars that held up the roof. The door’s number hung lazily on a nail, rusty with age and the doorbell on the left had a crack in it, but it rang clearly when Jo pressed it. For a few minutes nothing and then a brief shuffling as someone came down and opened the door. Simon started. He was used to strange sights, the appearances of people varied. This was New York City after all, but something about this guy was different. 

He was a young man, maybe Simon’s age or a little older. His dark skin puckered with scars and he had metal piercings all about his face. Even a bar of metal across his cheek. His cornrows grown out into full dreadlocks were thick and coiled like snakes, a herringbone poking through them. His most striking feature were his eyes. One was a cloudy white, pupils scarred into uselessness. However the other eyes was a clear sharp brown. They had a quality to them that demanded to be listened to, because what they had to say mattered. He stared unabashedly at the four, frowning in distrust. 

“Are you The Fixer?” Ellen asked. 

“Depends who’s asking. You’re the woman on the phone from before.” He made it into a statement rather than a question.

She nodded. “I’m Ellen Harvelle; this is my daughter Jo and her friend Simon.” She gestured to Jocelyn in her arms. “This is Jocelyn Fray and she needs your help.”

“Those are some tats’.” He remarked. “Good ink work, get that done in town?” 

Jo bristled, but mostly out of confusion than actual offense, but spoke up anyway.

“Jocelyn is a Shadowhunter.” 

The Fixer nodded. “Huh. So they’re actually real? Pretty crazy reputation. I’m Luis by the way.” He stared at them all again. “So what are two girls, a Shadowhunter, and a vampire want with me?”

Simon jumped. “S-so it’s true? You really do have the sight?”

Luis nodded. “Yeah, but your girlfriends don’t.” he waved their responses away. “Really, what’s going on?” 

Ellen spoke up. “We’re hunters. Every bad nightmare that’s real, we fight. To help people same as you.”

“Then you understand why I’m not too keen on letting a vampire in my house. Cuz’ they can be just as dangerous as The Folk.”

“Don’t worry, I’m housebroken.” Simon held up his hands with a grimace. “Seriously. I drink animal blood I get from a butcher’s shop, paid for and everything.” 

“Be that as it may, I know trouble when I see it.” Luis said.

“Please.” Jo cried. “You’re our only help.” She continued. “Jocelyn’s daughter is in trouble-our friends are in trouble and the more hands-help the better. Besides, Jocelyn can’t defend herself someone already tried to kill her.”

“So it sounds like you’ll just be bringing trouble to my doorstep. What’s in it for me? I’ve got people I need to protect too.”

“We can pay you.” Jo said. 

Simon whirled to face her with a surprised glare. Ellen nodded.

“She’s right. Money’s not an issue.”

Luis stepped aside and swung the door open. “Then mi casa su casa.” 

He shut the door behind them after they stepped inside. It was a spacious place, with high ceilings, and the few windows they had were boarded up. The only piece of furniture was a coffee table, chipped and worn rested in the center. A black boy with wild fraying dreads and blank eyes sat next to it, resting his elbows as he ate from a bag of McDonalds. He was skinny, with a kind of hollowness that made Simon flinch and avert his eyes. 

Mattresses and thick mismatched blankets were pushed to one side of the off-white, stained walls. Wiring peeked out of the corners like mice, tangling on the ripped carpet, the floorboards showing in some places. A dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling, its brass chains dangling and catching the glimmer from the bare light bulbs that were strewn about. 

The kitchen counter acted as a barrier to the kitchen, its counter top cluttered with old fast food wrappers, knives, and a tackle box filled with what looked like hex bags. The kitchen was just as worn as the living room, scuffed surfaces and mousetraps on the floor.

Jo was reminded of old hunter friends, the ones unable to keep much and travelled too much to care. Luis opened the fridge and there wasn’t much inside but he pulled out an apple.

“Welcome to my squat.” He said, rubbing the apple on his shirt. 

“You squat here?” Simon asked, flushing at how obvious his incredulousness was.

“Well it’s not the Hilton, but we get by.” He bit into the apple. “So let’s get a few things straight. That boy over there? Leave him alone, he’s got enough shit to deal with right now. Which brings me to my next point. I don’t know where you’re gonna stay-” 

“We won’t stay for long. As soon as it takes to fix Jocelyn.” Jo said. 

Luis scowled. “Fine. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.” He glanced at the sleeping woman. “From what I can tell, it’s pretty heavy duty magic, so my price is five g’s.”

“Whoa.” Simon yelped. 

“Three.”

“Four-fifty.”

“Done.”

“We’ll also show you some protection too.” Ellen replied. “I have my tools in my car.” 

“Fair enough.” Luis said.

Luis and Ellen shook hands. Jo stretched and the showed Luis her cell phone, rattling off her number. He wrote it down on his arm. 

“I’ll give you guys a ring if we run into trouble.” She grabbed the car keys. 

Jo grabbed Simon’s arm, leading him along as she walked out the door. The cool night air heavy with smells of the city as it came alive. Jo unlocked the doors of the car and trunk, popping open a compartment revealing guns, knives, and weapons Simon wasn’t too sure what they were called. Jo picked up a small wooden box and opened it. Plastic cards with varying designs, logos, and colors. Small square pictures of Ellen and Jo stared up at them as Jo rifled through them.

“Huh…hmmm.” She lifted one up, setting it against Simon as if she was measuring him. Jo turned her head as she hummed. “Hm ok, well, if they ask, say you haven’t updated your picture in a while, or changed your hair. Stuff like that.”

She handed him a card. The plastic poking his fingers and he stared at the New York driver’s license. A brunette with wide coffee brown eyes stared back at him. A face similar but not his own. He stared at the name. 

“Max Bherbolm?”

“Yeah I know, but I didn’t have a whole lot of options and I don’t have much for New York.”

“Huh. I guess it never really hit me -that’d you have fake ID’s.”

Jo shrugged. “Hunting ain’t exactly clean living.”

“I guess not.” 

She slammed the trunk and got into the driver’s seat, unlocking the passenger side for Simon. He slid in and buckled up. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. 

She laughed. “Come on and see how the other side lives.”  
_____________________________________________________________________

They drove for at least an hour, Jo asking Simon questions about the city itself. The atmosphere, the rough spots, the rich places, and the poor. Where did tourists go and where the natives went to avoid those spots. He answered as well as he could, pointing out whatever he felt like, playing tour guide and navigator. At last, Jo found what she was looking for, parking in the dirty asphalt in between two trucks that looked like they had seen better days. The two got out and Simon stared. A low slung building made of wood, sturdy and modern, but made to look as if it was worn with age. It had a long wrap around porch. The entire building was meant to imitate an old-fashioned western saloon. A neon sign showed a ten gallon hat and underneath it in a smaller design was a girl wearing nothing but a bikini and cowboy boots. Its name emblazoned in red letters.

“The Kid saloon and grill.”

“Howdy y’all.” Jo said in an exaggerated Texan accent.

Simon laughed. “What are we doing here?”

“Pretending to be tourists. Just follow my lead.”

Jo eyed him for a moment before mussing his hair. Her fingers making his scalp tingle. She finished and handed him a jacket from the backseat. He put it one, watching her apply her lip gloss. 

“Aright let’s go.”

Simon followed, feeling as red faced as an alarm bell, sure that someone would stop them from entering. Did he have some secret giveaway that would stop them from doing whatever it was they were about to do? That didn’t happen as they walked right in without a hitch. The music was stereotypical twangy country. The wooden furnishings reminding Simon of a cracker barrel. Paintings of cowboys on the range dominated the cream colored walls. A sign telling patrons to seat themselves was held up by a brightly painted, winking cowboy. 

Jo led them to a booth of plush dark brown leather, cool and comfortable as they sat down. The place was busy, but in no time at all, a blonde waitress who couldn’t have been more than sixteen flounced over, pen and smile in hand. 

“Hey there folks, what can I get ya?”

“Hey yourself.” Jo said. 

Simon swallowed. Jo had put on a very soft southern accent, but from where he wasn’t sure. Not exaggerated enough to sound fake, and just sharp enough to sound like she came from a real place. She continued to speak.

“Well, I’m from out of town and my friend Max is showing me around, because I said I wanted to go someplace authentic and he told me we should go here, right Max?”

Simon hesitated and Jo kicked him under the table. Simon nodded. The waitress’s smile didn’t falter as she listened, but instead made suggestions. 

“Well the house special is always good and the portions are huge. People usually have to have the to go boxes. The burgers here are fantastic by the way.”

Jo’s eyes brightened. “I’ll have that then. A burger and fries. The works please.”

The waitress jotted it down and turned to Simon. “And you sugar?” 

“Uh…the chili cheese fries with coleslaw.”

“OK and to drink?” she asked them. 

“Coffee for me.” Simon replied. 

“Coke.” Jo continued. “Oh and can we get a pitcher of beer too?”

“Sure, can I see some ID’s please?”

Jo flashed hers so easily that Simon felt a twinge of envy. He watched for a minute, only to be kicked again, prompting him to fumble in his pockets for it. He willed his hands not to tremble as he handed the card over, its’ plastic burning his fingers. The waitress looked at the ID’s for barely a minute before handing them back and leaving with a cheery, 

“Coming right up.”

Simon exhaled sharply and looked at Jo, who nonchalantly sipped her water.

“OK, so what the hell was that?”

“I can order beer if I want.” She shrugged.

Simon wasn’t buying it. “No really, tell me what’s going on? How are we going to save Jocelyn by going to a hokey tourist joint?”

“Well for starters, this is one of those places that only tourists and New Yorkers who like irony go to right?” At Simon’s nod, she continued. “These places are perfect for grifters. Anonymous and so many people here have holes in their pockets if you catch my drift.”

Simon stared back, eyes saucer wide. “You mean stealing?” He winced at how loud his voice went and he lowered it. “You’re gonna steal from everybody here?”

Jo gave Simon a look that suggested he had said something particularly dim. “Umm no. That’d be stupid and it’s not stealing if they give it to you.”

“How are they going to do that?” 

Jo turned and pointed to a throng of men surrounding a pool table. One of the players scored a shot and his friends cheered him on. 

“See that?” Jo asked. “We’ll eat a bit, wait for it to get later. Then we’ll go over there. It’s Saturday, so they could end up stayin’ for hours, especially since it looks like only one of them brought his wife.”

“Ah, I always wanted to learn pool.” Simon tried to sound casual. 

If Jo could see through him, she made no comment. The waitress finally came back with their orders with a sunny smile and a promise to return. Simon wrapped his hands around the coffee mug as Jo bit into her burger. Simon’s stomach growled; he couldn’t remember the last time he ate, so he ignored the fries he couldn’t eat. He watched Jo pour herself a glass of beer. 

“Why did you get that by the way?” he asked. “You don’t strike me as a big drinker.”

She shrugged. “I’m a hunter.” She said, as if that explained everything. “Besides, I’ll bring it over to the table, then order a round for the players. Drink with them, but not as much as they will. Play a few rounds and get em’ drunk enough that parting with their money won’t bother them much. That and they won’t think much of me, even when they’re losing.” 

“Huh. So pool’s a lot like poker, it’s all about the person you’re playing.” Simon stated.

Jo raised her glass. “Bingo.”

She tucked into her burger, eyes going between the players to Simon. Her eyes seemed to be musing, maybe worried as she noticed that he didn’t touch his food, only keeping his fingers peeled to his coffee cup. She didn’t comment at it. Jo left her fries on the plate and grabbed her beer. Simon watched her saunter over, mesmerized by the casual sway of her hips. As confidant as Isabelle, but very different in manner. It looked sweeter somehow, more unconscious, as if it was just the way she walked. It was not an exaggerated come-hither-look-at-me walk. If Simon didn’t know her, he wouldn’t know that it was an act. She kept her beer closer to her chest as she went over, setting it down on a table as she introduced herself to the players. 

Simon couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, just hearing the laughter as the man stared at her interest. One pointed to the rack of cue sticks at the two men who were finishing up their game, they included Jo in their round of teasing as the man who lost good naturedly wished her luck. She grinned, putting chalk on the end of her cue stick. The other man set up the set, the triangle encircling the balls, shaking them briefly before removing the frame. The balls kept their formation. The man let Jo go first, a few of them eyeing her as she bent down to take the shot. Her shot wasn’t particularly strong but she broke up the balls, none sinking into any pockets. Her opponent, a good looking fellow with a beard, managed to sink a striped ball into a pocket.

The game went on and Simon realized that Jo didn’t seem to be very good. The bearded man wasn’t particularly good either, but was a good sport about it. Even as his friends teased him about it as he tied with Jo. The man offered her another game and Jo waved Simon over. He took his cue and brought the pitcher of beer with him and she introduced him as her cousin. 

“He isn’t much of a player, but he loves watching the games. Max’s the one who told me they showed pool on ESPN, how cool is that?”

The bearded man laughed, introducing himself as Kirk. The other five were Ricky, Ethan, Antonio, Jack, and Paulie. They cheerfully accepted Max and Jo’s offer of a round of beers. Jo laughed along with their jokes, but more importantly, they laughed at hers. They were even pleasantly surprised when she could talk smack as well as them, keeping it light as she watched the others play each other, keeping Simon included as she drank with the men. She complemented their some of their shots. By the fourth round she suggested a bet, at first it was a simple one:

“Fifteen says Antonio beats Jack.”

“Well, I disagree with you on that point, but alright you’re on.” Paulie said. 

When Antonio won, Jo pretended to be surprised. Antonio teased her and she demurred and asked if they wanted to keep betting. They agreed. Simon thought he had it figured out. After the initial bet, Jo wasn’t the one to suggest the numbers, letting the others bet against each other and when Jo gave another fifteen on Antonio again, her told her:

“Hey make it twenty-five Jo, I won’t let you down.”

“Ok, if you’re sure.” A laugh. 

“Completely senorita.” He called with a wink. 

His opponent Ethan laughed. “Hell make it forty. I’ll beat you this time Toni.”

“You’re on.”

“I’ll go get us some more beers.” Jo cheered. 

She bought another pitcher on the credit card of Mimi Schwortz and she took her time getting back, returning when Antonio was on a roll. However, Ethan did win and by the time of this beer round, Antonio was cheerful and red faced enough to laugh at it, waving his hands. 

“Eh, I’ll win it back.”

“I’ll play winner, unless somebody else wants to.” Jo said. 

Kirk took a swig of his beer. “No you go for it darlin’, I’ll play you.”

The bets got higher as the rounds increased in number. Jo was thankful that they could hold their liquor well enough to keep playing and she didn’t even have to suggest the next betting idea, as Jack did it for her.

“Hey, I got a better idea. How about we pool our money and play tournament style, the winner gets the whole pot and to stay in the game-even if you lose, you put in five bucks.”

“Ten.” Paulie cried. 

“Cool. Like ESPN.” Jo grinned. 

Jo played a total of ten games, small bets every time, only going higher when the guys teased her. Simon also figured out that the drunker the men got, the better Jo let herself get. Not too much to overwhelm, even losing a few times and kept herself in the game. Then she’d buy another round. They cheered her on, urging her to chug her beer. Simon laughed; she could really throw them back. 

The night wore one, the country music continuing to play as the other patrons went on their way. By the time the pot hit 2500, they were the only ones left. Simon was confident enough to buy a pitcher of beer and by the time the pot was 3700, all the men were red-faced and silent as Jo took her turn. Even the wife(she had a feeling she was Paulie’s spouse) looked interested. They were evenly matched; Jo’s striped balls sparse on the table. She bent low at an angle when the waitress that served them closed the register and called to them.

“Hey, we’re closing up in five.”

“Thanks.”

“Better make this shot count then.”

Jo nodded, squatting down, she assessed the board before she stood up and changed the angle and hit. It shot out loud like a crack. She made the yellow striped ball hop over the solid red one. Her red striped balled hit the side and slammed into the green and blue striped balls sending them in either direction. One left and the other right, and both sunk into corner pockets, just as the red striped ball, the last of her balls, tapped the black eight ball so that it was inches from a corner pocket. Jo moved closer, angling her stick tapping it against the red-stripe, propelling it into the eight ball and sinking both into the same pocket. 

There was silence for a moment before the six men hollered in astonished cheer. As Jo straightened up, head moving upwards the overhead light glinted on her hair and Simon saw it. Her eyes. They had been sharp in thought and narrow in focus, almost deadly. It was only for a split second that he got to see this before they shifted to become wide and friendly. She feigned surprise and gave praise. 

“Well that was the funnest time I ever had at losing, but a kiss before you go?”

Jo leaned forward, giving Antonio a slow kiss on the cheek. 

“It was nice meeting all of you. If ya’ll are ever in Jackson look me up.”

With that, they took their money and left. That night they hit three other bars before having enough.  
__________________________________________________________________

When they finally got Luis’s, he had some idea of what he was up against. 

“Far as I can tell, it’s a curse. Warlock made, which means the strength of the curse depends on the maker’s skill. Unfortunately, it’s a pretty strong one and I talked to a guy I know, he told me what might work.” He held up a hand. “I don’t know how she’s been worked, so I can’t give you a specific cure. Because of that, whatever I try won’t match what happened to her, so it’ll have unexpected consequences.” 

“Like what?” Simon asked. 

Luis shrugged. “What did I just say? I don’t know, but it could really fuck her up.” He stared at them. “You sure you wanna do this? Maybe it’s better for her to wait-” 

“We don’t know if Clary’s even alive.” Jo said. “I just know that she’d want to save her mom.” 

Luis stared back at them for a few moments and then spoke. “Alright then. Here’s what I need. Salt, urine, black candle wax, iron, and some DNA of Jocelyn. Like her hair and blood. Also, something of hers she created, that she made with her own hands. That has a kind of magic of its own. Also copper and devil’s shoestring, and we’ll use one of those circles you showed me. Now there’s only one of those things that I can’t get.”

The three made noises of agreement. Simon’s mind whirled, possibilities making him dizzy, and he was surprised that it didn’t come to him sooner. 

“The painting. Jocelyn paints-I’ve seen them. She used to sell them, but the ones that she kept. They are…let’s see I think Luke has one of them at his place.”

Ellen stood up and Jo made to follow her, but the older woman made to stop her. 

“There are still a couple of things to do. I have to go to the Institute to see what’s happening.”

“You aren’t going by yourself.” Jo said. 

“We’ve got too much riding on this to waste more time-”

“Mom.” Jo’s voice was hard. “Since that’s true then we need everyone. Besides I can handle this. Really.” She softened her voice. “I’m all grown up now.”

“Jo…”

Simon swallowed, reminded of Jocelyn and Clary, of a conversation they might not get to have. He cleared his throat. 

“I’ll get the painting while you tow go to the Institute and I’ll drop it off at Luis’s and catch up to you guys. Sound good?” 

Jo and Ellen exchanged glances, long enough to have a discussion before nodding. Luis, who had been watching, now began to gather up what he needed. Ellen called out to him.

“I’ll have Simon show you the circle, so do you think you could break the curse while we’re gone?”

“Yeah sure. Just don’t forget to ward the place before you go.”  
________________________________________________________________

Simon stared up at the grey shop, the east river wind blowing his hair. The shop’s sign for the bookshop waving with the wind, chains creaking in the effort. The small narrow house was enclosed in chain link fence that Simon hopped over with ease. He kept low as he walked across the lawn and up the brick steps. The spare was not in its usual place, but he wasn’t surprised since he went to Idris. Simon’s mouth twisted in a grimace.

‘And who knows what could have happened.’ 

Simon grabbed the doorknob, focusing on his hand, letting his strength flow into it. He twisted hard, pushing his shoulder against it and the knob cracked, wrenched out of place with a metallic pop. The door broke, its latch snapped as the hole where the knob used to be gaped, revealing splinters, but beyond that the small hole showed a piece of the hallway. There was no illumination save his own eyesight. Simon pushed the door open and stepped inside. He shut it behind him. Something about the place demanded quiet, a not quite gloomy atmosphere, but something else that put him on edge. 

Walking through the kitchen, past the dirty dishes that piled high next to the counter that he and Clary would lean against for hours just talking as Luke organized his stock. He could see it, the lights warm and bright as the kitchen bustled. Himself and Clary not much use as Jocelyn or Luke cooked, since they often took turns. Luke listened to them tell stories of how their days went, laughing at their jokes. So calm-so normal. Simon turned away, the scene fading from his eyes and the dark bare present returning. 

“Hmmm.” He poked his head into the storeroom. “If I were Luke, where would I keep a painting…”

It wasn’t in the storeroom and he could never recall it being in the living room or the shop, so…

“Luke’s room.”

Simon padded up the stairs, his limbs trembling as he moved past the guest room that Clary had recently called her room. He never ventured into Luke’s room. There was no need to really, since it was sacred territory. An adult’s room. It wasn’t something that Luke enforced, but Simon had been well trained by his mother. Only now did he enter. It was good-naturedly cluttered, books, clothes, and coins in some form of organization known only to Luke. Simon knew he needed no light to see from, even when he couldn’t find anything. The shelves contained books and magazines. There were no paintings on the walls or up against them. Luke’s bed was made, covers pulled tight and inviting. Simon looked to the closet, a modest walk-in that was partially covered by a spare bedframe. Simon opened it and walked in. 

Clothes hung, cluttered together in their hangers, boxes stacked against each other. Simon sat down on his knees and began to move things around until he saw it. A painting made by Jocelyn. He’d recognize her work from anywhere. She had a knack for mixing colors together in such a way that created shades that seemed impossible to replicate. That and along with delicate brush strokes and an eye for detail. It was a landscape painting. Of a place that he had never seen before, so beautiful that it couldn’t be real. Green roiling hills that gave way to a thick forest in the distance. A cottage nestled in between those hills; it was a pale gingerbread brown, giving a cozy aura. Far off on the left hand side were shimmering silver towers that impaled the sky with a shade he had never seen before. A peaceful faraway place. The paint was still bright and thick. Jocelyn knew how to take care of her canvases. Simon grabbed the canvas from its sides, careful not to touch the paint as he stood up and walked out of the closet.  
________________________________________________________

Jo passed Ellen a thermos as he mother looked out from her binoculars. Having to keep watch on a place you could barely see was obviously difficult. Despite Cas having broken the initial illusions that had been placed over them, but they still had to concentrate to really see. The cathedral seemed foreboding in the dark. To the shadowhunters it must be comforting, Jo mused. 

‘But not to me.’ 

“See anything yet?” She asked. 

“No not yet.” Ellen took a swig from the thermos. “But we can’t be too careful.”

“True.” A shadow flitted past the trees, leaves scattering to the ground. “We might have something. At ten o’ clock. See that shape over there?” she pointed. 

Ellen stared, the nodded. “To big be to be a cat. Maybe a mugger?”

‘That would explain the shiftiness, especially in this city, but…’

At that thought, like magic, more shapes appeared. Darting and slinking forward, seeming to fan out around the building. One shadow moved ahead them, becoming distinct as she moved beneath the streetlamp, briefly detailed with the illumination. Rippling dark hair and a leather jacket. Ellen stiffened as the woman made her way to the front of the Institute.

“Mom.”

Ellen turned the headlights on, catching the woman in their glare; she didn’t bring a hand up to block the light as she glanced at them with black eyes. Meg.

“Go, hurry.” Ellen shouted.

Meg moved, hands blurring as she reached from her back and threw a knife at them. It aimed true and both women ducked as it went in the middle of them. A sharp cracking sound made them look up. The knife wedged into the windshield, the glass spider webbing in a crazy pattern. Jo and Ellen grab their guns and ran out of the car. They rushed forward. The shapes quickly proved themselves to be demons and as the two ran harder, they quickly found themselves in the crowd, close enough to be taken down. Ellen uncapped her holy water, going for the face, and shouting out exorcisms as Jo shot them with rock salt. The demons struggled to get inside, some leaping up to the windows, busting the glass and Jo shot them down before they could get inside, watching as they tumbled to the ground, collapsing onto each other. 

“Careful of the noise.” Ellen called. 

Jo replied by lifting a knife and sinking it into the shoulder of a demon. It screeched as the blade had been dipped in holy water. 

“We have to find that Meg demon; I bet she’s the one in charge.” Ellen said.

“Then go on ahead.” Jo replied. 

Jo rolled away from a demon as it dove to her. Another demon came from behind, tackling her to the ground. It knocked the wind out of her as she inhaled the scent of grass but it was brief as the demon grabbed and turned her over. The two demons punched and kicked her. She struggled to grab her shotgun that lay a few feet away from her on the lawn. Their laughter assaulted her ears, but then a new voice shouted out.

“Hey.”

A loud metallic whooshing and Jo looked up in time to see Simon, hitting a demon with a lead pipe. It connected with a heavy ring. Jo wriggled out of the other demon’s grasp. It grabbed her ankles and she fell back, but her hands closed around her gun, and she whirled, firing. It hit the demon in the chest, forcing it to fly backwards and hit the ground. Simon went to her and extended his hand, pulling Jo up. She nodded in thanks and he grinned back at her. 

“Sorry it took so long to get here. Luis is working on breaking that curse.”

Jo shot at a racing demon, it stumbled but continued onwards.

“They’re trying to get in but I’m not sure how-” 

Simon gasped. “Wait-there’s an entrance that they’ve kept on unconsecrated ground for people to use.”  
Jo reloaded her gun. “Well then I bet only a few can get there then. Someone tough like Meg.”

“Meg?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we gotta hurry. Where’s Ellen?”

“Already on it. We gotta catch up to her.”

The two ran ahead, the demons scrabbling at the walls. One in particular stood out-Meg was pointing out the entrance to the others. 

“That’s it.” Simon shouted. “If we-” He cried out in pain.

Jo turned back to see Simon pushed back as if by an invisible force. He got up and tried to move again, but was forced back. Whenever he tried to bend his knees, they crunched under his weight, unable to support him as he tried to move forward. 

“What’s wrong?”

“C-Con-se-crated ground.” Jo hesitated. “Go. I’ll be-”

Jo cried out in alarm as her feet lifted off the ground before she was flung against one of the Institute’s walls and pinned there. 

“Jo.”

Her name was shouted in unison. Ellen ran towards Meg, firing her gun and Meg was blasted back and she threw Ellen into a wall even as she fell to the ground. Ellen’s shotgun clattered to the ground as did a small book from her pocket. 

Meg walked up to them, her voice brittle with amusement. “I swear, you Harvelles’ are just as bad as the Winchesters.”

“We try.” Ellen grunted.

“Well now what?” she hummed.

Simon stood up with a speed he didn’t know he had, he shot forward and slammed into Meg. She hissed in irritation and the two grappled on the ground. Simon’s fangs slid out gleaming like polished pearls as he and Meg leaped up. Meg’s eyes going black as she grabbed the lead pipe he had taken and hit Simon. As she swung again, Simon grabbed the pipe with his bare hand, gripping it so tight he broke it in half. Meg’s uplifted hand then blasted him back onto the ground below Jo’s feet.

“Mom’s book.” She gritted out. “Get it.”

Simon struggled to get up as Meg strode to him. He snarled, finally monstrous. His feet resisted, trying to gain purchase as he attempted to stand on holy ground. He managed to stand for a few moments. His legs trembled. He dived for the little book and as soon as his fingers closed over it, the force of it sent him careening back across the ground.

“Page fifteen.” Ellen shouted.

Meg leapt up and raced across the other side, and Ellen yelled out something indistinctly, but Simon figured out the warning as the other demons advanced. He picked up a discarded shotgun, taking a shot at Meg and surprised that it actually hit in her in the jaw. She tumbled out of sight. He threw the gun down on the ground and flipped the book open to page fifteen. He began to read. He opened his mouth; it felt like it was filled with peanut butter, his jaw aching with the effort as he rushed forward to the women. 

As soon as he hit consecrated ground, he pitched forward. Simon’s whole body shook, the power coming from the ground slamming up his body, ripping through it with righteous fury. He fought to keep the book in his hands at the right pages as he sat up and continued again. Simon stuttered over the words, they burned his throat, slashing his insides. The demons were running to them now, almost within touching distance. 

He kept going, choking over the words as if they were live creatures fighting inside him, thick with power, and ready to vomit them out. He staggered, almost driven back again. He wished he had something to hold onto. Simon’s head swam and he nearly broke his neck turning to look over at Jo. Her eyes held him in place, causing him to straighten up and dig in his heels. He gripped the book tighter, using it as an anchor. His eyes blurred as he read one of God’s names, but what Jo’s eyes said to him echoed louder in his ears. 

He opened his mouth and spoke. The power reverberated inside him, like the strength Jo gave him accelerated it. A storm bellowed in mouth and then he heard himself from far away, voice clear, concise, and unfaltering. Simon’s body a mere conduit as he began to shake, being ridden by lightening. Everything coming into white bursts as the power exploded out of him, Latin assaulting the demons, which were forced to make their escaped. Black smoke spiraled into the night sky. It burned and he looked up at the wheeling stars, the exorcism fading. 

The sudden aftershocks hitting as the power left, the protection-whatever it was that shielded the Institute still came at him and then he gave one mental shove at the ground, feeling it ripple and subside before finally being overwhelmed. He collapsed to the ground, retching. Bright splotches of blood splattered God’s ground and then the world swayed. He felt hands on him and relaxed when he saw they belonged to Ellen and Jo. They were speaking and it took him a moment to realize what was being said. 

“I saw where Meg got dropped. I’ll get her and bring her back while you bring the car around.”

“Gotcha.” Jo hoisted him up. “Ok, c’mon big guy. Can you stand?”

He mumbled something, disturbed and oddly excited when he felt blood on his lips. His legs swayed as Jo carried him to the car. He could hear police sirens in the distance. He vaguely wondered if it was because of them. As Simon buckled himself in, he saw Ellen carrying Meg over her shoulder. The woman opened the trunk and shoved Meg inside and running into her seat. 

“Go go go.”

Jo floored it and as they got further away, Simon’s focus began to return. She glanced over at him.

“You ok?”

“Y-yeah.” He swallowed thick and slow. “Um…hungry actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “Can we swing by my place really quick? It’s were my…stuff is.”

Jo frowned. “Are you sure you can’t get some later?”

“That’s not the point.”

“You want to see your family.” Ellen stated. 

Simon nodded. “I just need to see if they’re ok.”

“Alright just be quick, we don’t want to be followed, so we’ll be down the block.”

From the trunk, Meg kicked in rapid succession, swaying the car. Simon agreed and gave the directions. When they drove up to that familiar red door, Jo barely put on the brakes when Simon bolted out of the car. Suddenly the sight of his home sent a fresh wave of nervousness as he went inside. He shut the door behind him with gritted teeth, tensing as it creaked beneath his hands. As he shut it with a soft but audible click, the lights came on. He froze, one hand still on the doorknob, back to whoever was most certainly glaring at him.

“Simon? Where have you been?” 

He turned around slowly, as if being held at gunpoint. His mother was leaning on the kitchen counter. Her eyes red rimmed and wild. Simon felt a stab of gut swooping guilt at the knowledge that he was most certainly the cause of this. She stared back at him, eyes boring into him and he shivered. In all his life she had never looked at him like that. So frantic and immobile and when she next spoke her voice was so calm that he was unnerved. 

“I’ve been trying to figure something out.” She sounded as if she was merely musing; Simon didn’t interrupt her, something told him she might explode if he did. She continued. “You have been acting strange these last few weeks. Not eating, staying in your room, and leaving all hours of the night. Oh yes, don’t think I haven’t been paying attention. You drop names I’ve never heard of-” She cut herself off, choking on her question. “Are you on drugs?” She gestured to him.

Simon looked down at himself, the cemetery dirt still clinging to him, some splotches of blood on his clothes, and he realized that he must smell like beer. He turned, catching a glimpse of his reflection from the mirror in the hall above the table where his mom put her keys. He did look awful. It was a good question. A pale face that looked exhausted and kind of gaunt. His eyes were rimmed with red, almost scratchy, and despite the whites of his eyes being mostly ok, his pupils were dilated. His skin really was paler than usual vampire standard, and his skin had a sweaty sheen. It took him a moment to notice that he was shaking. He turned back to his mother and mutely, minutely shook his head.

She was unmoved. “What else am I supposed to think? Today your school called, said you just up and left in the middle of class. You took someone else’s car and drove off. Now you’ve been gone nearly two days. Where have you been?!” She held up a hand, looking as if she might be sick. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know, because what I-” 

She ducked down clumsily and Simon saw her struggle to reach something. Suddenly, seeing her bent over, made her look old, weary, and lined. Simon shivered, body still going through the emotion, not catching up with physical need.

‘Oh God, I’m going to outlive my mother.’

He shuddered, trying to put a lid on the encroaching horror. His mother straightened up and what was in her arms made his breath catch, but he couldn’t process it. She dumped it onto the table, glaring at him. Red vials with their contents at various levels of consumption, some of the stuff still clinging to the plastic. Only five bottles of various sizes, the largest one the size of lunchbox milk. His piddly collection of blood lay on the kitchen table.

‘Oh shit.’

“I-I can explain-” 

“Really?!” she cried. “Because I can’t, except that you must be on drugs-this-this is-” she was about to scream or cry. “This is blood! What is this?! A-are you in some kind of cult? Is someone making you do horrible things-”

“No.”

“Then tell me! Help me to understand, because I don’t. I don’t-”

“I’m a vampire.”

She laughed and the sound reminded Simon of a scratched record. It was a laugh that took the place of a scream. She became even paler, stumbling to his side and she gripped his shoulders tight. Its strength hurt and she shook him. When she realized what she was doing, she abruptly stopped and looked him in the eyes, her own becoming wider. 

“Y-you believe this. Oh my God.”

“Mom-”

“You’re sick.” She tugged at his arms. “We’re gonna get you some help, don’t worry.”

“Mom, I’m a vampire.”

“Oh baby.”

Simon winced. He could taste the pain in her voice, so thick and choking. She looked half-mad, teeth set in a grimace and her pale face streaked with tears. There was some kind of child-like desperation in her voice. Seeing the wetness in her eyes made his world narrow down to those two points, and all he could think of to help was to show her the truth. He licked his lips and pushed down, the slight shudder of his fangs sliding down into place with a distinct click. That didn’t muffle the sound of his mother’s gasp.

“T-this is impossible.”

“Feel them.” Simon opened his mouth wide.

She glared back at him, challenging his sanity, but maybe it was the way Simon looked back at her that made her face harden with resolve. She lifted her slim index finger and touched his fangs. Simon shuddered. It was a strange sensation, to have someone else touching your teeth, their skin sliding over enamel. Letting it squeak. An intimate, yet perfunctory touch and if it was anyone else, he had the vague thought that it could have been arousing. However, with her, it seemed so alien, like it was supposed to be comforting but came out like a goodbye.

She poked the points of his fangs. She stayed still, stiffening with awareness as she pricked too hard and drew blood. The scent cloyed in his mouth, he could taste it. Hunger flared to life inside him. Simon resisted the urge to clamp down, her fingers crunch in his mouth, and blood gushing so he could wrap his arms around her shoulders…She must have sensed his thoughts. She pulled back. Ashen faced, she shook, swallowing rapidly as she tried to speak. 

“Oh-oh my-” she coughed. “God. This is real. This is really real, oh God!” 

Simon smiled and her face suddenly changed. It became devoid of sympathy and realization appeared. It stayed there for a split second, as if it could only be comprehended for a moment. Then it was replaced by absolute terror, contorting even further until it became doll-like. 

“S-so you.” She looked at the blood on the counter. “So that’s-” 

“It’s animal blood I swear. I don’t hurt other people.” He moved closer to her. “Mom-” 

She moved backward so fast she nearly tripped. Now he could smell her fear, rank and sour like old milk. It was like she regressed, her fear so acute she gave an animal-like keen. 

“Stay back. Just stay away. Stay away from us.”

“Who? Rebecca and-” he moved closer to her. “Please Mom, I-I wouldn’t, see I’d never-please…”

He realized, as his hunger grew, that he was unable to pull back his fang teeth. He almost choked when he tried. Her blood still on his teeth. She screamed. 

“I don’t know who you are anymore! Are you even my son?! What kind of monster are you and what have you done with Simon?! Simon!”

She stared screaming his name as if he wasn’t really there, or if he was it was someone else. Simon spread his hands open imploring, when she screaming again. It was high and long, never ending. Some part of him snapped. He dove at her, faster than she could react and he wrapped his arms around her, like a frantic embrace, a mantra to be shouted.

Love me, love me, love me!

She convulsed in his arms, hair tossing back and forth, the strands catching the hallway lights. Her neck exposed a pale column that sheathed beautiful veins. Simon put his hands to her mouth to muffle her screams. She went limp in his arms, lips still moving against his hand. The lilting language as familiar as his bedroom. Hebrew. He flinched. The language of the holy; she was saying a prayer, calling for deliverance. For protection.

His eyes blurred. The world shifted to the point where he couldn’t see. His cry stuck in his throat. It was too much. The vague sense that he’d never look in a mirror again and he was struck with a sudden terror and a feeling too big to name. He shoved himself back, violently propelling himself into the hallway, and he slammed into the mirror. Glass cracked into his back and falling in his hair. He watched her stumble back and fall into a chair, still mumbling in Hebrew. His vision wavered and then cleared, making a freeze frame in his mind. Preserved forever as his mother. Crumpled on his late father’s favorite chair, sobbing and praying as she tried to make herself as small as possible. He straightened up and walked out of the door without a word.   
_______________________________________________________________________

When they got back to the hotel, Jo, Ellen, and Simon quickly set to work. They carried Meg inside and tied her up to a chair that rested in the center of a bright red devil’s trap. Meg watched their efficiency with a mocking smile. 

“So…getting ready for story time?”

Ellen’s voice was tight. “You could say that. You’re going to tell us a story and for your sake I hope it’s a true one.”

Meg laughed. “So what do you want to hear? Goldilocks and the three bears or little red riding hood?”

“How about the one where the devil visits Idris?”

“Why mommy what big ears you’ve got.”

“All the better to gain intel.”

Meg sneered. “Let me guess. You have big teeth too.”

Jo moved, swinging the butt of her rifle at the side of Meg’s face with enough force to fling her head to the side. Meg spit out a small glob of blood and turned her head back. She raised one thin eyebrow at the blonde, but Jo was unfazed and said,

“No, that’s his gig.” She pointed her thumb at Simon. 

Simon opened his mouth, revealing his fangs, and baring them with a wide grimace. Meg rolled her eyes.   
“Puh-leeze. I’ve seen scarier puppies.”

Ellen picked up a bucket and threw its contents onto Meg. When the water hit her, she screamed and shuddered as steam came off of her borrowed body. She eyed the trio. 

“Holy water? Guess the foreplay is over.”

“We know the devil is in Idris. What we want to know is why.” Jo said.

Meg laughed. “Seriously?” she stared at the three of them again, assessing their expressions. “You are. Well, a kid could figure it out.”

Jo walked up to Meg with a bottle of holy water, tipped her head back by yanking her hair and forced the water down the demon’s throat. She choked, thrashing against her restraints as she tried to spit the water back up. Some of it splashed down the front of her shirt. Jo pushed the bottle against Meg’s teeth, the plastic cracking against the canines. Meg gurgled, breathing shallow through her nose. When the bottle was emptied, Jo set it in its place on the table where the rest of the implements lay. Knives, holy water, bags of salt, and the small book Simon used just hours before. Meg retched, spitting more water back up, and it had a pink-ish tinge to it. She looked up at them through her eyelashes. 

“Does this Jack Bauer thing really doing anything for you?” Because I gotta say, I’m as dry as-”

Jo poured salt down her throat and Meg spat up bloody chunks. It went on like that for another hour and a half. Jo and Ellen asking questions and Meg taunting. Simon handed them their tools, flinching whenever one of them read snatches of exorcisms, which caused Meg enough pain that they had to gag her. Only removing it to shove something else down her throat. 

Jo took one of the knives, a wide bladed one that was at least ten inches and cut Meg just below the collar bone. Jo had to brace with her other hand, keeping an iron grip on Meg’s shoulder as she made thick jagged cuts into the flesh. It made wet snicking sounds. Simon swallowed back the bile, the scent of blood spilling over on Meg’s jacket, making him dizzy. Demon blood smelled awful and he hated himself for being hungry enough to want it. He covered his mouth as he watched the cut become deep enough to fit a hand. Meg had been slinging slurs at Jo all the while, but she turned her attention to Simon and her voice came out low, even sultry despite the shakiness. Jo began to pack the wound with salt. 

“What is it? Never seen a girl get cut before, puppy?” She blew out a breath. “It’s amazing. You should try it.” She crooned. “Some on, just one little cut….go on, cut me.”

Simon gagged and someone banged on the door. Meg watched with delight as all three of them froze.

“You gonna get that?”

Ellen and Jo exchanged looks. Jo quickly gagged Meg as Ellen unholstered her gun, loading it as she went to the door, but before she could look through the peephole a voice shouted through.

“Hey, let me in.”

It was Luis. Ellen lowered her weapon and opened the door. Luis took in the scene and his good eye widened but he made no comment as he tugged someone in by the arm. At the sight of winding red hair, Simon yelped in astonishment. 

“M-Mrs. Fray.”

Jocelyn flinched, eyes widening before they narrowed back into a look Simon had to take a moment to place as suspicion. Luis was unmoved by this and spoke to Ellen. 

“As you can see it worked. You’ve paid me and as far as I’m concerned, I’m washing my hands of this shit.” He rummaged in his messenger bag, pulling out a large water bottle, red liquid sloshing inside it. He tossed it to Simon. “Goat’s blood. You look a bit peakish.”

“Uh thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.”

“We’ll let you know if there’s anything to watch out for.” Ellen said as Luis turned to leave.

He laughed. “Lady, I have to watch out for everything, but I appreciate it.” Luis left, shutting the door behind him. 

Jocelyn stared at them, entire frame tense as she reached for a weapon. The two other women held their hands up; Jo’s bloody but she smiled invitingly. Ellen extended her hand. 

“Hey. My name’s Ellen and this here is my daughter Jo, and of course you know Simon.”

Simon smiled despite himself. “Clary’s gonna be so relieved that you’re ok.”

Jocelyn frowned in confusion. “Who?”

Simon felt his face drain of color, the smile on his face stuttering to a stop. Ellen and Jo exchanged glances, eyes wide.

‘Oh so here’s the side effects.’ Simon thought.

Jocelyn eyed the weapons again and Ellen stepped in front of them. 

“Don’t even think about it honey.” She kept her voice slow. “Now, there’s a lot to explain and not much time, so if you could please be patient. We’re not gonna hurt you, we’re allies.”

Jocelyn scowled. “Give me a reason why.”

“Fair enough. It’s because you’re Jocelyn Fray and you were a shadowhunter, but left because your ex-husband, Valentine had committed horrible crimes and is still doing them. As of today, he is threatening Idris-” 

“That is common knowledge for Shadowhunters and you are not Shadowhunters. Only one of you is a Downworlder.”

“True. We’re hunters. Basically mundanes who do the same job you do.”

Jocelyn nodded. “What else?”

“We know Luke Garroway.”

Jocelyn was unmoved. The name was unfamiliar.

Simon thought for a moment. “Lucien Greymark.” He swallowed. “We’re his friends and he-”

Jocelyn’s voice was tight. “Enough. Explain her.”

Meg laughed at the sudden attention drawn her way as she sat straighter and flicked her black eyes. Jocelyn stepped back in disgust.

“I’m a demon.”

“An Eidolen? Unusual-”

“No.” Meg spat. “Don’t you know a demon when you see one, you stupid half breed?”

Jocelyn’s gaze turned icy. “I know a monster when I see one.”

Meg sneered. “Typical. All an angel’s arrogance and a human’s stupidity. You’re just as much a piece of spawn as I am. There’s a hell of a lot you ‘shadowhunters’ don’t know.”

“Such as?” 

“There are different types of monsters out there. Not just those downworlders you’re so fond of destroying.”  
Jocelyn shrugged. “Fine. That’s not so surprising. I know firsthand that the Clave isn’t right about everything.” She straightened up. “Demon or not. Why is she being interrogated?”

Meg grinned, wide and terrible. “Because Lucifer is going to attack Idris and I know how.”

Jocelyn’s reaction was extreme, she seemed to sway and go rigid at the same time. She became paper white and looked on the verge of attacking Meg herself, but curbed the desire. Instead she said in choked voice, 

“Explain.”

Meg turned to the two hunters. “Alright.” She glared at them. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not doing this because of your interrogation skills-you’ve got nothing on Hell-besides it’s not information that gonna stop my father, so who cares?” She shrugged in her bindings. “I just want to see the look on her face when she hears this.” Meg nodded to Jocelyn. “Your husband is a real catch. After his little uprising he fakes his death and hides out here, makes a plan to steal those Mortal Instrument things. Course you swiped the cup first so he has to track you down. Apparently you saw that coming, knocked yourself out in some kind of coma so he can’t get anything out of you. Or maybe not…” She trailed off for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, he jacks the sword-Maellartach and bathes it in the blood of downworld children for a spell-”

“The Infernal Conversion.” Jocelyn gasped.

“Bingo. And since that sword’s my father’s, he wants it back, so you know. So he’s teamed up with Valentine. I’m pretty sure your hubby is trying to use the mortal cup-which he has by the way-to make new shadowhunters and kill all the other who don’t agree with him.”

“Of course.” Jocelyn’s voice was bitter. 

Meg nodded. “He already hit Alicante, something about knocking down the demon towers-” 

“He actually found of a way to do that?” Jocelyn answered her own question. “Of course he did.”

“Yup. He attacked with ancients. Oops my bad, demons.” Meg rolled her eyes. “I hate semantics, don’t you?”

“Has he managed to succeed?” Ellen asked.

“Trust me, when he does, everyone will know. This place will become a bloodbath after Idris.” Meg leaned as close as she could to Jocelyn. “Lady, your home is screwed.”

Jocelyn’s jaw was firmly set and her voice steady. “You lie.”

“Uh-uh.” Meg shook her head. “It’s locked up tight now-some fancy spell work-and no one can get in or out. Or something like that.” Meg wriggled. “I can’t wait.” 

Lightning fast, Jocelyn struck, leaping like a panther and tackling Meg. The chair toppled backwards, legs scraping against the red paint as Jocelyn dug her fingers into Meg’s collarbone wound. The demon writhed, her screams sounding close to hysterical laughter. She opened her mouth, spitting, and spraying Jocelyn with blood. The woman flinched, staggering back as Meg kicked her, boot grazing her jaw. Meg slipped out of her bindings, ropes coiling to the floor. Simon glanced down to see the scratches on the devil’s trap, partially worn away. He shouted a warning just as Meg scrambled out of the circle, racing back into the room. The sound of breaking glass-it was the bathroom window she leapt out of. 

“So much for that.” Jo grunted. 

“You will tell me everything.”

Simon jumped. Jocelyn had already wiped the blood off her face and levied a machete in their direction. Ellen gestured to the bed.

“Sit down, this’ll take a while.”  
______________________________________________________

The drive was quiet for the most part. Jo and Ellen went over the plan as Simon occasionally spoke up. Jocelyn was silent the entire way, but once the radio was on, Jo turned around back to Simon. 

“So how’d it go by the way?”

Off guard, Simon stuttered. “I-I uh, not too good, but uh…”He cleared his throat. “ I’m not too sure I can…talk about it right now. Maybe later, but not right now.”

Jo’s expression became understanding. Simon could see the sadness before she buried it and for that he was immensely grateful. Pity or sympathy was the last thing he wanted. He gave a tiny nod. 

“Well, when you can, you can.”

“Yeah.”

There was no more conversation for the rest of the drive and when they pulled up to the Dumort Hotel, there was no one in sight. They all got out just as quietly and Simon marveled at the instinct to keep silent. At how used to the way they prepared for fights. He wondered if this was going to be the rest of his life and banished the thought away when he was handed a machete. Jocelyn was the biggest surprise as well. Simon supposed he shouldn’t be, after all, she was a shadowhunter and by the way she handled weapons, she still was. Her eyes blazed with resolve. She no longer resembled the gentle overprotective artist he remembers. She looked bright and sharp with purpose. An angled, more definitive being, one glance into her eyes stated that this woman had killed and would continue to do so. The four walked to the hotel, footsteps soft as they maneuvered through the debris of the street. 

“Who is the head of the clan?”

“Er…a guy named Raphael Santiago.” Simon said. “He’s kind of a dick.”

Jo smiled briefly and pointed to the alley. “There’s an entrance this way. We’ll go the way we came last time.”

“Last time?” Jocelyn raised an eyebrow.

“Long story.”

Simon and Jo temporarily took the lead, finding the grate by the overflowing dumpster and hefted it up. Jo gave Simon a significant look. 

“Stay close to me. Seriously.”

“Roger.”

Jo went down first. Simon going next, with Ellen close behind, and Jocelyn bringing up the rear. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Simon knew where he was. Although this time, he could see much better and she shoved the memories back down. The place still looked the same; the ruined grandeur of the hotel still invoked the sense of going back in time as the got to the grand staircase. Simon didn’t have much time to marvel, the only difference was that this time, the vampires came sooner, rippling out of the darkness. Simon groaned. 

They came in all directions, but Simon instead focused on the top balcony at the center. The three women fanned out, still close enough to reach other easily, but the formation was a familiar one. A semi-circle that spread away from Simon, almost encircling him and he realized it was because they were outnumbered and giving him cover. 

“Dios, what do you want this time?”

Raphael himself appeared, as though he had just stepped out of the past in his flowing white shirt and black pants. The same delicate face was molded into a cool disdain. He stared down at them, gaze becoming wary when he saw Jocelyn.

“Shadowhunter.”

She inclined her head. “Vampire. We have something to discuss with you.”

“Discuss.” His sharp laughter was derisive and abrupt. He cut himself off with an angry exclamation. “Is that why you’ve all come, armed to the teeth, bringing this so called Hunter with you?” he spat in Jo’s direction.

She smiled up at him. “So you remember me huh?”

“You arrogant little mundane.” Another vampire rasped.

“She’s right.” Simon said. “You remember Jo?” Simon gave a sudden terrible smile and he pointed to Ellen. “Well like daughter like mother and there are dozens more like them.” He waved his cell in the air. “And they are all just a phone call away. So you’d be surprised. I figured you of all people would have stopped under estimating human beings.”

“And you should stop underestimating your own kind.” The vampire with blue hair shouted back. “We outnumber and outrank you.”

“Enough.” Jocelyn said. “This is not the time petty theatrics. We have important information. Valentine has gone rogue and attacked Idris. Once he has dealt with those he has seen fit to dispose of he will go after Downworld next.” She gestured to their little group, tapping Simon’s shoulder. “We propose a truce and call our forces together to kill Valentine and then perhaps we can finally bury the hatchet as it were.”

“Ridiculous.” Raphael spat. “As if we would trust the word of a nephilim. You take our dignity, force us to go with your ways or suffer. For hundreds of years we were never treated as equals. You never keep your word and never will. You never help us with our problems, why should we help you with yours?”

“Because this is everyone’s problem, Valentine is-”

“Mad yes, but one shadowhunter. Surely you should clean us your own messes.”

“Look, we can work together, it’s possible!” Simon shouted.

“Why should we listen to the Uncle Tom?!” Another vampire shouted.

Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd, the agitation making them rowdier and Simon finally shouted over them. 

“But it’s the end of the world, can’t you make an exception?”

“That may be true, but we have withstood many disasters, this is but another one.” Raphael continued. “I see no reason to be concerned. Now if you are finished with your mewling, leave. The Children of the Night will take no part in this.”

Jocelyn snorted. “Typical. You have no concern for others.”

“Your arrogance is also typical.” Raphael hissed, suddenly furious. “I am protecting my own and my own only! You are lucky am I sparing your lives and letting you leave. However, come back again and you won’t be so lucky.” 

“Fuck it, let’s go.” Jo snapped. “These assholes don’t want help fine.” 

“This isn’t even your fight, mundane!”

“Yes it is.” Jocelyn replied. “It’s all our fight.” 

She said no more and strode back the way she came. She didn’t look back as Simon did and he marveled at the fearlessness she displayed. The four of them came back out the way they came, the smells of rot attacking them. Simon pushed back his disappointment. Ellen put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You tried.”

“But-” 

“They outnumbered us, so we couldn’t force them even if we wanted to. Besides would you have wanted to?” Ellen asked. 

“No, not really.”

They walked back to the car, Simon lagging as he looked overhead at the stars, glad to be out of that melancholy building. 

“If that’s how vampires are supposed to be like, then I don’t want to be one.”

“It’s ultimately up to you, but personally you seem to be a very honorable one, Simon.”

He jumped. “Guess I said that out loud huh?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “My ears are quite good is all.”

“Huh.”

As they climbed inside the car and began to move, Simon didn’t look to the sky, but rather to the road that the tires ate up, lit up by the streetlights and Simon felt an odd sense of the possibilities that were beginning to unfurl like stretches of lanes that seemed to magically appear in the head lights. Simon wondered what it was.   
_______________________________________________________________

TBC….


	10. Smash the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own, just borrowing, I’ll give em’ back I promise.  
> Warnings: Character(s) Death, Violence-higher than usual, canon-divergence.  
> AN: Sorry this is late. Last part of the first third part. So, it’s a little big. Hope you like it.  
> Enjoy!

Clary didn’t quite wake. She languidly came back into awareness. The last thing she could remember off the top of her head was the satisfying sound of a zipper coming undone. She was too tired to fully reminisce, it was so recent. She was enjoying the heady sensation floating through her body. The scent on the sweaty sheets made her nuzzle harder into them. They were still warm. She blinked in the filtered sunlight, the morning light gentle on her eyes by the barrier of the curtains. 

Clary stroked her thighs and rolled over. Something sharp nicked the corner of her nose. She pulled back, blinking. As soon as she did, she realized that she was alone. She rubbed the rest of her sleepiness away. An envelope rested against her pillow, her name in an elegant script staring back at her. Jace’s handwriting. She snatched it up, tearing the envelope in half to get at the contents inside. She jumped when something solid slid out of the paper and landed on her knee. It was familiar as one of her own possessions as she picked it up.

The Morgenstern ring that hung on a chain glimmered back at her when she held it up to the sunlight. The falling stars emblazoned on the edges caught the morning rays, lighting the pattern to a silver fire. Clary smiled and let the ring rest in the palm of her hand as she turned her attention to Jace’s letter. Just seeing his handwriting gave her a flutter of desire and she began to read.

‘Clary,

I am sorry that you had to wake up alone. If there was one thing I ever wanted to do, it was wake up next to you, for the rest of my life. Especially after last night. It was not what I expected or my intention, but I do not regret it. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. That’s how I feel in regards to you, no regrets. I love you.’ 

Clary’s breath hitched and she continued.

‘I love you. Without reservation or regard for the consequences, with the entire center of my being. I’m not sure how well I explained myself to you, but to me, I cannot be evil because I love. If I love, then I have hope for myself because you have made me a better person. You have shaped me in more ways than anyone else I have ever known. Even more so than the man who raised me. 

Speaking of, I have enclosed the family ring to you, as I no longer can wear it the way I used to, but strangely enough I don’t think it should merely be thrown away. We should always remember where we come from but I’d rather think that it has a different meaning. Think of those stars as the love, the bond that burns only for us. I know that’s how those stars look to me, as if they sensed something in us, that the stuff of our souls were drawn together. They acknowledge that, that’s what this ring will do in my place. Clary,’

She could hear his smile.

‘I want to shout it from the rooftops and maybe I will but for now, there is something I have to do. I must kill our father. I don’t want to. Even after all this time, I still love him, even after everything he’s done-to the rest of us. Yes, I have a plan and it’s sure. I won’t trouble you with the details, since I only want to tell you how much you mean to me. You’ve given e more than just honor and duty or belief in my people. You gave me belief in myself, in a way. Life was just a dream before I met you. Not only did you wake me up, you made me face myself without flinching. (Ok, minimal flinching). Honestly, I’m not sure how well I can even express this, but I want to because you are worth it. I wish we had a thousand days and nights, hours and years. I think I owe my life’s happiness to you and hopefully see you once more. 

Yours forever, Jace.’

With trembling fingers Clary folded the letter back up and unwound the necklace, slipping it over her head. The cool metal gave her goosebumps. At the new found weight she sighed. It was heavier than she thought it be, but a part of her enjoyed the weight. It had a certain calm to it. It helped as her mind began to buzz with feverish design. A plan meant she would not be able to stand still. 

She got up and got dressed, borrowing a simple dress belonging to Amatis. She made sure the Morgenstern ring was visible at her throat. She hurried downstairs, already hearing the voices of the others. 

“The terms Lucifer put to shadowhunters weren’t just negotiations. They test the shadowhunter way of life.” Luke said.

“There isn’t gonna be a shadowhunter way of life if they don’t oppose Lucifer.” Sam said.

The air was subdued. Sam’s gaze lost in thought. 

“What now?” Dean asked. “The colt didn’t work-”

“Big surprise there.” Gabriel snapped. “Tried to tell you-”

“The hell you did.” Dean shouted.

“Would it make a difference?” Alec asked. “We still need a plan.” He stared at them.

“No really?” Gabriel asked.

Isabelle’s eyes hardened. “To fight.”

Before more arguments could break out, Sam turned to Isabelle and said,

“The sword.” He craned his neck to Gabriel. “That will work right?”

Gabriel hesitated before nodding. “Easier said than done.” 

Dean scoffed. “Perfect.”

“Well what’s your idea, mundane?” Isabelle asked archly.

Dean glowered back. “Screw you, have you got any? Any shot at-”

“Teamwork?” Castiel offered. “If every nephilim allied with the downworlders here than we might stand a chance.” 

Gabriel shrugged. “Them’s odds aren’t very high. Which is why I was all for leavin’ em to it.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to do that.”

“Why not?” Clary asked as she walked into the kitchen. 

Dean looked up at her entrance and Magnus answered her, despite still looking at Gabriel. It seemed Clary was the last one to arrive. 

“Because I sensed a shift in the wards and went to the Silent Brothers of Alicante. While they were trying to fix the demon towers, a barrier has been placed around Idris. We’re trapped like rats.”

Gabriel groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Magnus stared grimly back at the archangel. “I wish I was.”

“Fine. Hang on.”

Clary cried out in surprise as Gabriel disappeared into thin air. Isabelle blinked in surprise and went back to making pancakes. Her brother sat at the table, trying to catch Magnus’s attention, but the warlock appeared lost in thought. Sam sat at the table next to Alec and he eyed the pancakes with unease as Dean rolled his eyes. Cas stood across from him, not looking particularly interested in his surroundings. Clary fidgeted in the silence. 

“So…where’s Amatis?” she asked.

“At the Accords Hall with Luke. He’s working out an attack plan I guess.” Isabelle said. 

“You guess?” Dean turned to her. “She said shadowhunters won’t surrender right?"

 

Isabelle’s voice became icy. “Of course not. Not anyone with a brain anyway. Besides, what we really need to focus on is getting the council to agree to ally with the downworlders.”

Clary’s nerves jolted at her. Jace’s supposed plan in her ears and she turned to Magnus, intuition tugging her in his direction.

“Did you or anyone see Jace yesterday?”

The room went quiet except for the sizzle of pancakes. Alec eyed her curiously and Isabelle stared at her with a blanched face. However it was Magnus who met her gaze evenly as she spoke.

“Because he told me he had a plan, but didn’t give me any details.”

Magnus nodded. “I figured as much. He asked for my help.”

“He’s going after Valentine.” Clary swallowed hard. “By himself.”

Magnus clicked his tongue. Isabelle frowned, suddenly looking much older. Alec bowed his head, shoulders in a tense line. 

“He wanted a tracking spell.” Magnus said, holding up his hand. “And before you ask, no I won’t be able to perform one since you don’t have anything of Valentine’s or-”

“Yup it’s a barrier. We’re locked up nice and tight.”

Gabriel had returned. The Lightwood siblings were visibly shaken, and Alec spoke next. 

“So there won’t be any reinforcements?” At Gabriel’s nod, he continued. “What about the demon towers? Are they warded again?”

“Doesn’t matter really, Lucifer's tricks are pretty difficult to bypass."

Alec nodded and Clary was amazed at his calm. 

"Well, it sounds like the Accords Hall is the place to be. I'm going to prepare for the attack."

With a nod, he rose out of his seat and strode out the door. Magnus watched him go and Clary could feel the concern in his gaze, but when he turned to look at her, it was gone. The kitchen seemed too small to contain the feelings of its inhabitants. 

"So. I've got something of Jace's. I'll just use that instead."

Whatever Magnus was about to say was cut off by a loud slam from Isabelle's frying pan. A pancake flipped haphazardly in the air before flopping back into the pan with a messy 'plop'. 

"Dammit."

Isabelle turned down the heat of the stove and swiveled around in time to see Clary hold up the Morgenstern ring. Her dark eyes widened then filled at the sight of glittering up by Clary's throat. She swallowed heavily. Clary blinked in surprise at the display. Isabelle tried to shrug. 

"Well that's typical." She said with a raspy laugh.

Clary scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh Clary." Isabelle's reply was two parts exasperation and pity. "Of course Jace is going to fight Valentine. It's what he has to do."

Clary made a noise in between a snarl and a sob. "What?! Not alone anyway, that doesn't make sense."

Isabelle's laugh was hollow. "No, but it's something he has to do. His sense of duty wouldn't allow him not to and he won't rest until he's finished it. I shouldn't have to tell you this. It's what we've all been taught."

"That doesn't make sense." Clary cried. "He can't do it by himself. Why aren't you helping him? Don't you care?" 

At once, Clary knew it was the wrong thing to say, but she was too upset to care. Jace could be in trouble right now. Isabelle's eyes blazed with sudden anger.

"Stop. First off, it makes sense to us because it's how we were raised. To us, our duty is more important than our happiness-than anything else. Don't you dare say I don't care. You think I don't want to run out there and look for him?" She took a breath. "But, I'm needed here. To fight. Even though we're probably all going to die in a couple of hours, but I can deal with that. Second of all, you should have more faith in Jace. I know my brother-"

Clary flinched, transfixed as if Isabelle was hitting her with her whip. Her tone so cutting she got the implication immediately. 

'I know him better than you-' 

Clary swallowed hard. "...Right, I know. One of the best." She envied Isabelle's grip on her emotions. "Sorry for..." She trailed off. 

Isabelle leaned against the sink, drained. She pushed back a strand of her hair, eyes narrowed in thought. Clary turned inward, not caring that five men had witnessed their conversation. In fact, their presence was turning her gears. It was truly amazing to her that they were here-that all of this was happening.

'When did my life go upside down like this? How in the world did I even meet Jace? I mean, what are the odds? Or that Simon became a vampire...huh.'

Simon and Luke, both downworlders who loved shadowhunter women. Then there was Sam and Dean, mundanes who knew angels, and who snuck into the shadowhunter’s forbidden city. There was herself, who never knew this all existed before, and her mother who prevented Valentine from his uprising by working with Luke and the other downworlders. 

'Didn't Magnus say he was there...?'

A calm went over her as she remembered the basement, Ithuriel showing her Valentine's memories, and his rants of the unfairness of the skills of the downworlders. What Clary had mistaken for derision was actually envy. She shuddered at the memory of his voice; she didn't want or need his hate. 

'We need...'

Her mind cast over Madeleine and Ragnor. The way they looked at each from across the room, so powerful Clary was almost overcome. Something flashed against her gaze, eyelids burning. A swirling pattern of a simple match knot blazed in front her with dizzying power. It couldn't be unveiled easily; she couldn't tell where it ended or began. The comforting whisper of Ithuriel echoed in her mind.

"Will this do?"

"Yes! It's perfect, thank you."

She didn't get a verbal reply, but she felt the satisfaction, like a flutter of wing beats. Clary ignored the frown of confusion on Cas's face and turned to Isabelle, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to wrap her arms around the other girl. She resisted it however; somehow she couldn't see Isabelle appreciating it. A plan began to form in her mind. A crazy one. 

________________________________________________________________________  
The Accords Hall was crowded, but it was Luke who found her. He strode to her the moment he caught a glimpse of her. His blue eyes widened, hair more flyaway than ever. 

"Alec told me about the barrier." He said by way of greeting. "I think that's what pushed the council into their decision." 

Clary's breath hitched. "Well?"

Luke smiled. "They've decided to work with us." His smile became grimmer. "We're going to fight Valentine in a couple of hours." He gripped her shoulders. "Listen, I want you to stay here."

"Like hell."

Luke's voice was firm, the way it did when he went all parent-y and prevented Clary from throwing a tantrum. It reminded her of all the sleepovers and field trips she never got to go on. The contrast of the situations brought her to a strange thought.

'No young lady, you may not go out to slay monsters. You have to wait until you get a license and if you even think of putting on that gear, you're grounded.'

She smiled at the voice and Luke misinterpreted it. His frown deepened. 

"I mean it. I don't care what plan you have. Stay here. Please. I want to know that you're safe. This is where the minors are." 

"But-"

"Clary. Just stay here. This will all be over soon."

Luke gave her shoulders a brief squeeze before he slipped back into the crowd, back to his pack. Clary scowled. This was one fight she did not intend on missing, especially since there was one thing she could do, even if it didn't have anything to do with rune...Clary peered around and seeing the no familiar faces in the crowd, quietly slipped out of the hall.

________________________________________________________________________  
Alec strapped the quiver of arrows to his back, the comfort of the thick leather gear putting him into a readied state. Behind him he could hear Dean's whistle.

"Not bad."

"It's more than that." He said dryly. "The accords hall has always had this room...just in case."  
The weapons room was well stocked, walls lined top to bottom with blades, staff, crossbows, and others from all corners of the globe. Alec watched Gabriel heft a katana with smooth ease and suppressed a shudder. An archangel would be handy in a fight, although he didn't look it. The pile of spare gear gleamed; Alec watched Patrick Penhallow hand a brace to Mayrse. She looked exhausted, fuelled only by grim determination. Despite his worry for his mother, he couldn't help a swell of pride at seeing her accept the gear with a nod of thanks. 

"So first dibs or what?" Dean asked.

Alec nodded impatiently. "Whatever you like." 

Dean gave Alec a quick grin and for a split second he was reminded of Isabelle. The same anticipation for battle. Sam noticed and rolled his eyes. The taller man inspected a crossbow with a rueful smile. 

"Ignore him. This is like a candy factory for him."

Alec snorted. "I can see that."

"Course' these are some pretty impressive weapons, I'll give you that." 

Alec nodded. "Out of curiosity, have you ever seen some of these weapons before?"

Sam shrugged. "It isn't that, not really anyway. We just find this familiar...and not." 

"So...how did you become hunters, if you don't mind my asking?" 

Sam shrugged, handing Alec a feather staff he had motioned for. 

"Our dad. He raised us in the life and we never really got out of it." 

Alec raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. If you’re in, there's no way out."

Alec nodded. "Yes."

Alec handed him a set of daggers. Sam took them with a small smile. Isabelle walked over to them.

"Boys."

Alec did a double take as his sister tossed a loop of electrum wire back and forth between her hands. Dean watched her with a smile; making a face and Sam rolled his eyes. Alec hissed at his sister.

"What do think you’re doing?"

"Gearing up, what does it look like?"

Isabelle ignored her brother's glare and went to the gear pile, grabbing what she needed. She talked as she strapped the thick material to herself. 

"Did you really think I'd sit around and do nothing?" To Sam she said, "I'd wear some gear if I were you, you'll need it." Without waiting for an answer, she tossed him a chest guard. He caught it with a surprised look, but Isabelle was busy looping her whip around her wrist.

Dean came over to them, a machete strapped to his back and arm braces laced up. His Beretta flashed briefly. He held up a wickedly curved blade, runes blazing along the length of the blade, ending at the point. 

Isabelle snorted. "What are you going to need a sickle for?" 

Dean shrugged. "I feel like I'm playing dress up." He searched for another piece for his ensemble. 

"Well I feel like a ninja." Gabriel called.

The four turned and Alec could see why. Gabriel had equipped his katana with its companion piece, the kodachi. A strap covered in shuriken gleamed at his side and he held up a Bo staff, the sectioned metal pieces gleaming. 

"You look ridiculous." Dean replied. 

"Well at least I don't look like him." 

Gabriel gestured to Cas, who was at more of a distance from the rest. He had grabbed a belt, which was stuffed with daggers of various sizes, but Gabriel was probably referring to the medieval shield, with its wickedly sharp point in the center. He was hefting a claymore with ease, staring up at the length of it, it broad blade reflecting his blue eyes. With the way he stared at the weapon, it was obvious that he held one before. Dean gaped at him, but to Alec he looked very much like a righteous angel. Dean cleared his throat and Gabriel called out to his brother.

"Hey bro, what's next-chain mail?"

Cas gave them a non-plussed look. "I am ready. You?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Eh, sure."

Sam picked up a pair of brass knuckles and put them on. While it wouldn't do too much, if he ran into Lucifer on the battlefield, he could at least get the satisfaction of punching the devil in the face.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Jace urged his mount forward; the tracking spell had lead him through the Idrisian countryside. The familiar sweep of the land did not bring him peace, only the grim satisfaction that he at least knew the layout and wouldn't be distracted by it. A piece of paper ripped from Valentine's journal, held tight in his grip. Jace closed his eyes, letting the spell wash over him. In his mind's eye he saw the landscape rush forward as if he was flying over it, hills rolling in dark waves as he passed by the trees, and rocky outcroppings and the entrances all the way to-

"Lake Lyn." Jace grinned. "Gotcha."  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary made her way into the barn, she didn't know which member of the Clave this belonged to, nor did she care. All she knew was that it was still in Alicante and this was as good a place as any. The smell of horses was becoming a more welcome one as she got used to it. Fresh, sweet hay that was thick in the loft above her head. There were only three horses in their stalls. At Clary's arrival they perked up, lifting their heads and flicking their ears. She still wasn't the best judge of what was good in a horse or not, but she didn't care as long as it was fast. The one in the middle stall looked sturdy. A dapple grey with thick hindquarters and long legs. As her fingers moved to the bolt of the stall door she remembered the tack wall.

"Right, that'd be real helpful."

Clary hurried for it and picked by sight rather than knowledge. The black saddle. She had to grab a chair to stand on to take it down. She reached on her tiptoes, fingertips brushing the polished leather. Clary grunted, hands finally closing in on it. She strained to lift it, and it came down, its weight nearly making her collapse. Clary lifted with her legs, moving in a frantic crab-like scuttle and panting, collapsed the saddle next to the stall door. Straightening up, she raced back to get the reins and halter. 

The only advice of Madeleine’s that she could remember was not to be nervous. Clary stood in front of the horse, blocked by the stall door. She held out her hands, palm up, letting the horse smell her. 

"That's a good horse-y."

It's ears flickered back and forth. Clary could have sworn it was listening. She kept her voice soft and slow. 

"Good horse-y. Now, I'm just gonna ride you for a bit."

She moved her hands up its velvet nose, crooning as she began to pet it. Fingers that maneuvered behind the ears and eyes. With her other hand, Clary struggled with the saddle. To the animal's credit, it stood still as she fumbled with the straps and only swished its tail impatiently when she took too long in buckling up. After the horse was ready, all that was left was for Clary to get on.

"Ok, now I'm gonna climb up...and you're not gonna move ok? Oh, please don't freak out on me."

Clary grabbed the horn of the saddle and put one foot in the stirrup. She paused, but the horse-a mare-didn't move, so she hefted herself over, briefly feeling that nerve wracking vertigo of being halfway over as she swung her leg around. Her foot searched for the stirrup and she shoved her foot inside. Clary kept her back straight and she lightly dug her heels in the mare's side. She nickered softly and trotted out of the stall. Clary steered her out and once they hit the outside air, Clary kicked her heels. The mare shot forward like a cannonball and Clary screamed as they raced down the road.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The plain was not too quiet, the breathing of waiting shadowhunters filled the air. Despite their own silence, the intrinsic hum of living beings would always give them away. The sun was setting on Idris, its rays filtering through the leaves, lighting the trees like fire. It shimmered on the weakened glass towers, their opaque filminess could not diminish the glory of the sun. It illuminated their army, as if to showcase the pride of the shadowhunters, no need to hide against their opponents. 

The downworlders were spaced behind them. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Gabriel in back with them. Across from them Luke stood at the head of his pack and the Idrisian werewolves. Magnus kept clustered to a small group of warlocks. The field in front of them was a sea of grass, the sight marred only by Valentine striding through it. He sat astride a white stallion. His black eyed gaze swooped around the crowd, as if searching it for familiar faces. Luke and the remaining council men stepped to meet him. Valentine did not dismount, but stared down at them with a smile leer. 

"So this is what the clave has been reduced to? Needing the help of filthy beasts is the only  
thing keeping you from forfeiting this world to-" 

"Enough." Luke said voice soft. "Do your worst."

Valentine smiled. "Well said, old friend."  
________________________________________________________________________  
Jace was ready to throw the paper, its images jumbling together like a broken signal, almost static-y. Yet something told him to stay where he was. His marks burned from their application. He relished the feeling, as it pushed back his sense of foreboding as he stared at his surroundings. He was close to the cave that was past the old cottage nestled in the hills that were near the Brocelind Plain. The small thick woods that he stood on the edges to was across from there, very near Lake Lyn, the infamous site where the angel Raziel appeared to Jonathan Shadowhunter. Despite this, not many went near the lake because of its poisonous content for shadowhunters. A breeze lifted the smell of the lake to him but it was a cry from the cave that got his attention. He turned around, the air whistling into the mouth of the cave, reminding him of the tunnels inside it. If he concentrated hard enough, he thought he could hear a snatch of malicious laughter. 

"Come and get me."

Jace walked to the mouth of the cave, pulled out a witchlight stone. He grimaced. The cold wind from the cave blowing inward and ruffling his hair. One step through it and his instincts peaked. He wasn't alone.

"So that's where you are, Father."

He kept his footsteps quiet as he ventured further in, keeping low to the ground, and blade at the ready. Jace could only venture a guess at the size of the cave; it was much deeper than the outside suggested. From the looks of it, it had many false passages and dead ends. The dampness of the air clung to him; water droplets beading in his hair and making him shiver. The sound of running water was coming from somewhere, but he couldn't pinpoint it. The witchlight scattered patterns against the craggy rocks, their shadows overlapping as they turned this way and that. Jace scanned the dark space, he had a few options about which direction to take, since he was running low on time. He tightened his grip on his seraph blade.

He directed his witchlight to the corridor to the right of him, a faintness that lured his eyes. He walked through the corridor, ignoring the crunch of what was probably insects and bones beneath his feet. He had to stoop through the narrow passage. He scowled as his head scraped against the top, feeling something crawl in his hair. As the tunnel widened, he straightened up until he was fully upright again. 

Jace walked into a colder area. He looked up to see the ceiling was pointed, as if he were in the mouth of a great beast, its teeth ready to descend on him with bloody delight. He could see easier here and it was just as easy to see why. A faint light was farther down the space, which Jace moved towards, stepping away from the questionable pits that pocketed the ground. Nothing but the sound water dripping and the chirping of hidden insects. Jace froze, ears pricked. Yes, that was the sound of insects and he went to the sound. The mouth of the area got larger and suddenly he was there, brightness overwhelming for a moment.

Moonlight filtered down and Jace looked in. The cave opened up, like a natural skylight, or the opening lip of a volcano. The rim of the cave was at least thirty above him. A small plateau of sorts was a direct drop below it; its smooth surface contrasted the jagged stalagmites below. One had an angry red color swirling inside it. As though it were hollow and made of glass. It off an aura of malice that hung heavy as moisture, dampening the light. Jace had the sudden thought that it was pulling him to it, instinct stating that he must kill it. 

"I wouldn't touch it if I were you. It's uh...radioactive you might say."

Jace whirled; the voice was not Valentine's but softer, almost courteous, and for the moment unfamiliar. Before he could tell the speaker to reveal themselves, they beat him to it. Moonbeams illuminated the figure, which walked onto the plateau and smiled at Jace's shock.

"Sebastian Verlac?"

Sebastian's grin widened. "I know right?"

"...What?" Jace's eyes narrowed. "You're with my father. Who'd have thought, though I guess that's why it works so well." Jace took a step forward. "Now, you're gonna tell me everything."

Sebastian laughed. "Doubtful, little angel boy."

Jace smirked, full of bitter delight. "Well, I gotta tell ya, I can be a little devil myself."

"So we do have something in common after all."

Sebastian unsheathed the blade at his side. It was a dark color all over, almost ore-like, its thick handle looked cold, but the stain around the hilt were more eye catching. Jace scowled, his seraph blade comforting in his hand. Sebastian's grin widened and Jace was struck by the similarity. The broadness of his shoulders, dappled in moonlight making him look like a fallen angel. 

Jace gripped his blade tight and whispered. "Ithuriel."

It came to life in his hand with a bright, violent shudder. The promise of a fight tightening his instincts and honing his joy. He could see his emotions mirrored on Sebastian's face as the black haired, black eyed boy lifted his sword high.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Valentine was unmoved as the councilmen advanced, their weapons tentatively raised as they fanned out to surround him. Luke barred his teeth, eyes now gold as he starred down his old parabatai He kept himself at a distance as he looked for an opening. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Valentine asked. "You might regret it." 

He didn't wait for an answer. His horse plunged and he yanked hard on the reins as the councilmen rushed forward with frenzied shouts. Luke was pushed back into the crowd, caught by hands he didn't know and pulled back up. 

Valentine raised his weaponless hand, curling his fingers into an easy shape and snapped them. The councilmen froze against their will, briefly suspended in the air and then in rapid succession, exploded. Blood splattered outward like the bursting of rotten fruit and chucks of flesh hit the first row of shadowhunters. Luke got a face full, a jaw bone slithered out of his hair and fell at his feet. For a moment, the crowd was silent, but as a clean Valentine raised his hand again, shouts arose as if he were some kind of demented conductor. Shadowhunters hastily began unsheathing their weapons as Valentine raised his fingers to his lips and whistled.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Sebastian perked up, straightening like an attack dog that had just heard his master's voice. As if he could hear something Jace couldn't. The wind blew fiercely just as Sebastian hefted his sword and swung it at the stalagmite. It held the sword for a second before shattering with a winded vicious echo. The shards scattered around Sebastian like flower petals, each surface reflecting his face. A thousand black eyes stared back at him. Then released from its prison, the red smoke shot out, coalesced, and then spread outward-expanding. 

The smell was awful and one Jace recognized. Demons. Tusks, fangs, claws, limbs, and poison dripped and spewed as one maelstrom. Thousands upon thousands of demons moved together. The noise terrible, all manner of shrieks, howls, hisses, and growls. It was almost like laughter, the joy of those about to do carnage. They reeked with anticipation. The stench of rotten flesh and blood made Jace stagger, as the demons swirled about the cave, limbs knocking into walls. The shook the cave, pieces shearing off, their debris smearing the walls. They swooped low and Jace ducked, covering his head. 

He was unable to move, skin crawling as the demons brushed against him. He felt their movements more than heard it, unable to do so over the sound over their laughter. Rage curdled in his gut. Suddenly as soon as it came, they gathered themselves up and shot out through the opening in the ceiling. Jace watched in horror as they expanded once again, blotting out the nights' stars and unfurled in the sky. He lowered his gaze, expecting to see Sebastian and finding no one. 

Jace studied the plateau and the ceiling. It only took a moment of calculation before he began to run. Seraph blade clenched between his teeth, his hands hit the plateau wall and he scrambled up it, its surface scraping at his hands. He made it to the top faster than he thought. Jace looked up to see the wheeling stars, too buzzed to be affected by the vertigo as he calculated the height. He focused his vision on the rim of the opening, its details clearer and sharper. Jace could see the cracks in the surface and he bent his knees, barely feeling himself jump. 

He shot through the air. Wind whistled through his hair as he soared over the edge of the cave's ceiling, its surrounding top below him. The moonlight at his back, he sensed it and spun around. Behind him, facing him was Sebastian-he had leapt into the air. Arms outstretched, he looked like an angel rising up from the underworld, as he seemed to float in the sky. The backlight of the moon behind him like a stage prop, its light shattering across Jace's body.

Despite the illusion, they were both in free fall. Sebastian moving closer to him. Jace felt for the witchlight stone and clenched it as tight as he could, the light bursting to life with an overwhelming brightness and he threw it as hard as he could. It hit Sebastian who screamed with anger, batting it away as quick as possible. Sebastian darted to the side, spinning like a top as he maneuvered away and for a moment, Jace didn't know where he went. 

Thick arms encircled him and Jace couldn't slip from their grasp. He thrashed in fury, feeling Sebastian's chest rumble with laughter. They began to fall in earnest, wind slicing them as they grappled in the air. Jace had to get a decent impact, even a shadowhunter would have trouble from a fall at this height. Sebastian shoved him downwards, fumbling for Jace's blade. Jace angled his head, ramming the blade into Sebastian, vaguely aware that it broke skin and Sebastian kneed him hard in the groin. Jace grunted but held fast, digging his hands into Sebastian. Together the two of them flipped head first. Jace caused them to jackknife, sending them into the trees. Sebastian kicked himself away from Jace, disappearing into the trees as if the foliage pulled him into themselves of their own free will. He had a smile on his face. Jace heard the impact before he felt it. 

He slammed into a tree. His back screamed as it shuddered, making his teeth rattle. He fell, arms outstretched in instinctual frenzy. Jace managed to grab a branch before going too far. Jace swung himself upward, landing in a couch in the crook of a tree, and he pressed against the foliage. Before he could catch his breath, his own seraph blade singed through the air, narrowly missing his face as it lodged itself into the bark, knife handle trembling. When Jace pulled it out, a small chunk of wood popped out with a tiny clatter. Jace called out through the dense trees.

"Thanks for this back, I'll put it to good use."

Laughter rang out through the woods. "I'm sure you'll try."

Jace smirked. He had a pretty good idea of where Sebastian was. As quietly as he could, he shifted and then using a branch as a balancing beam, swung outward. He whirled, nothing but air as he gained momentum until his speed made too much noise and he let go of the branch. He didn't go far before his feet connected with flesh and he heard Sebastian's grunt of surprise. Jace kicked out hard, dislodging the other boy from his perch. Both fell for a second time and landed on the uneven surface of the cave's ceiling. Standing apart by at least ten feet.

Sebastian's hair was out of place, haloing into his eyes and his shoulder bled from where Jace's seraph blade stuck him. However, he seemed unperturbed by this, breathing through his nose as he sneered at Jace. Before the gold haired shadowhunter could taunt him, Sebastian began to move. Jace threw the blade; Sebastian laughed as he caught it and threw it back at Jace, who ducked. He was unable to keep his footing and he tumbled down the side of the cave. He threw up his arms, feeling the impact as his limbs pushed him back up, managing to land on his feet, and nearly losing his balance from the brief sheer drop that he was forced to leap down. Jace bent his knees as he saw a small ledge rise to meet him. He clipped it, wincing at the sudden bloom of pain, but it slowed him down enough so that he could control his descent. 

Jace's feet skimmed over rocky debris, it flew outward of him as the ground finally evened out, despite running too fast to fully stop. A large rock jutted out, warped and smooth. Out of the corner of his eye, Jace saw Sebastian racing to it and he swerved to meet him. Jace bounded down, almost moon bouncing as he hurtled himself forward. They arrived at the same time and Jace kicked the ground. Its smooth surface launching him up. Sebastian hit mid-stride, shouting as Jace tackled him midair. Sebastian's arms shot out, gripping Jace tight and head-butting him. Jace spun away, kicking in retaliation. Both landed heavily, some hundred feet from the cave, the trees overhead blocking the sky. Sebastian grinned at him, quick and gums dark with blood. They leaned forward in unison, weaponless as the raced for each other. They were within striking distance. 

Sebastian feinted to the left, swooping low, and bringing his fist up to hit Jace in the jaw with enough force to crack it. It sent Jace reeling, but he grabbed Sebastian's arm, seeing the wound that he gave him was shallower than Jace thought. He dug his fingers into it, blood welling hot and thick around his fingers. Sebastian yowled, elbowing Jace in the chest. This time Jace did stumble back and Sebastian shoved him with enough force that Jace's feet skimmed the grass. Sebastian chased him, leaping and bringing his knees up in one smooth motion, and kicking Jace in the chest. He couldn't block it, hands struggling to get a good grip on Sebastian's foot as he was flung. He hit a tree, finally crying out as stars burst in his vision. Sebastian collapsed against him, head striking a branch and their combined weight made the tree groan beneath them. The two sagged to the ground. 

"Tell me something." Jace panted. "Why betray your own kind?"

"Please." Sebastian jeered. "You aren't my kind."

Jace felt Sebastian's chest rattle, the vibration causing his heart to pump a little faster. The other boy smelled familiar, his frame making the Jace's muscles to twitch at the too close proximity. Jace twisted his head despite his body's protests to look Sebastian in the eye. Jet black eyes, full of nothing, tar-shiny with hate. The only way they could convey emotion was with the help of Sebastian's mouth, which was pink and plump. As if ready for his thoughts. Sebastian brought it closer, widening it. Jace's body rippled with disgust. 

"Who are you?"

Sebastian chuckled. "How bout' I tell you what I've done instead?" taking Jace's silence for a yes, he continued. He brought his mouth inches to Jace's. "I like your sister." He bucked his hips, letting them brush up against Jace, keeping him pinned there. "I'm pretty sure you already know this, but haven't you noticed the way she gasps when you kiss her? Or hell, touch her? She thrashes so beautifully, I thought I'd have to fight her-"

Jace struggled hard, wrists aching. "Bastard."

Sebastian continued over Jace's string of obscenities. "But in the end, she was gagging for it-"  
"Shut up, shut up you ugly motherf-"

Sebastian's laughter spiraled into the night, becoming hysterical and he had to shout over Jace. "And let's not forget your brother! Poor poor little Max. You should have seen the look on his face when-"

At hearing this, Jace became silent and bone white. He shook in Sebastian's arms, unable to hear the rest of what Sebastian was saying, like he had hit the mute button. Sebastian's lips kept opening and closing with garish presentation. All Jace could feel was a wild rumbling, a tidal wave crashing in his ears and he was no longer still. With a roar, he launched himself at Sebastian, throat rippling with the sounds of his fury. Sebastian ducked, swerved, and whirled away from Jace, laughing all the while. He leapt back from Jace and sprinted into the trees.

"Catch me if you can."

Jace gave another incoherent roar and gave chase.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The main ballroom of the accords hall was empty, dark, and silent. The only one standing guard was the mermaid fountain, its carved expression seeing nothing as nobody walked up the steps or went into the hall. A shadow passed over it, like the ghost of an apprehensive look, but the statue wasn't a person. It couldn't look up to see the demons racing through the sky, darkening the ground like clouds covering the illumination of the moon. The way their shadows were perfectly seen from the ground. If it could, it might notice the ones that flew low, their bodies skimming the glass domed ceiling, causing it to shudder as if dealt a mortal blow. 

The cracks appeared like magic and the glass almost shattered instantly, the sounds echoing as the shards rained down. Reflecting the stars like glittering diamonds, the mermaid statue witnessing it, all silence as glass surrounded it, explosive as the glass hit polished marble, shattering into further fragments, bursting outwards. Silence quickly regained control and the moon shone brighter on the statue through the shattered dome as the demons made their way across Alicante. There were so many, each one hurrying to answer the call and one rather large creature slammed into one of the thickest of the glass towers, its barbed tail wrapping around it, making it sway dangerously. However, it untangled itself quickly from the tower, leaving a deep crack in its wake.  
________________________________________________________________________  
As soon as Valentine's winding whistle ended, the plain was filled with ancients and demons. They charged across the field and the battle erupted as seraph blades were brought to life with righteous screams. They crashed into each other as ancients attack with unusual precision. The larger ones charged with lowered heads and bowling shadowhunters over, some flung into the air. 

Familiar faces of those now possessed, took advantage of those who hesitate, using their bare hands to strike at their opponents. Those that didn't hesitate hurried to say the necessary Latin; black smoke filled the air, knocking shadowhunter and downworlder alike in their haste to repossess another body. Luke saw one of his wolves' mouth fill with the funneling black smoke, and he is blocked by this wolf, who leaps and crashes down on him. Luke thrashed, whirling away from it in time to see Valentine vanish into thin air.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary urged her horse further on, its piston muscles straining beneath her. Cold wind whipped her hair back as the ground darkened. A horrific screeching filled the sky and Clary couldn't help but look up. The sky was filled to the brim with demons, as if they were the sky itself. She kept the scream clamped shut inside her as a sudden loathing began to fill her up. Its intensity did not come from her and her hands shook as she resisted the urge to fill them with weapons. Clary briefly closed her eyes, trying to send reassuring thoughts to Ithuriel.

"We're almost there. Somehow, I know it."

She dug her heels in harder, her horse snorting in protest as she tried to outpace the demons above her.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Maryse ducked, the tail whistling above her head. The creature whined in agitation. She looked up to see that its tail was lodged deep in the bark of a tree. Maryse kept low as she moved, her arm shooting out, and her seraph blade impaling the lizard-like hide. It was driven deep inside. Its top teeth along its forehead clattered in pain as it continued to thrash. Maryse pulled back the blade, aiming for the killing blow when she felt the ground shake as something collapsed behind her. A raspy growl followed and the Ahab demon in front of her replied in kind. Maryse inclines her head to see more of the same. She reached for another blade and it advanced on her quicker that she expected, tail and talons whipping towards her. 

A thread of gold shot in front of Maryse, blocking from the attack as it looped around the tail of the second Ahab. They crashed together, talons and tusks burrowing into each other as the golden wire wrapped them around the tree, which cracked under the strain. 

"You ok?"

"Isabelle." Maryse smiled tightly. "Do you ever do as you’re told?"

She grinned. "Nope. You're welcome by the way."

Maryse's next smile was freer. "Your father would be proud."  
________________________________________________________________________  
Alec's arrows sunk into the kuri demons that hid in the foliage. The stench of their blood was overwhelming. He resisted the urge to snap out a taunt; they wouldn't understand it and he couldn't think of anything anyway. Another kuri darted in his path, black coat matted with blood from the thin awl that were thrown by another shadowhunter. Its razor teeth slippery in the fading light. It launched itself in the air and Alec swerved, watching it collapse, panting at its feet. He quickly impaled it before it could get up again. Its slinky limbs briefly thrashed before it crumpled in on itself.

A bright, crackling blue light erupted yards away, lighting up the trees, making them blaze. Alec's breath caught through as he heard the screams from the recipients of such an attack. He recognized those flames. 

"Magnus."

Without thinking, Alec charged past the kuri blood, ignoring the branches that snapped at him. He came upon the scene in no time. Magnus in a clearing surrounded by oni and moloch demons. His face was taunt with concentration. The oni demons lowered their heads and charged, the wickedly curved tusks, absurdly large as they moved with impressive speed. The moloch demons shot fire from their eyes when they had an opening. As Magnus shot a running oni with his own sparking flames, a moloch darted forward, claws whirring as flames burst forth in angry spits, and catching on the hem of Magnus's coat. 

Alec loosed an arrow, not bothering to watch as it pierced the eye of the moloch. He interrupted it mid-flame as it collapsed on one of its fellows with a screech. Another moloch spewed flame and Magnus dodged, the orange flames hitting an oni instead. With a bellow of pain, it charged blindly, inches from goring Magnus. Alec shot another arrow, hitting another vital spot and the oni collapsed at Magnus's feet. 

The warlock looked up in time to see Alec load and shoot at the crowd of molochs’, but there were too many for proper long range fighting and when Alec ran out of arrows, he dashed into the fray with a feather staff. He barely registered that he was shouting as he launched himself into the air with his staff, hitting an oni mid-charge. It stumbled, growling as it swiveled to regard Alec. The oni charged at him and as he tensed for the blow, blue flames shot out and engulfed the oni. Alec was brought up short and grabbed by the shoulders, to come face to face with an irate Magnus.

"Alexander, just what do you think you're doing?"

The tone sent a shiver through him, but his voice was indignant when he replied.

"Saving you of course."

Magnus frowned. "At the cost of your life?"

Alec was spared from answering when another oni demon charged at them. Without thinking, Alec threw a dagger right at the same time Magnus shot out another burst of flame. The blade burned white, super-heated as it easily slid into the thick green hide. The oni sunk to the ground with a gurgle. Magnus looked back at Alec, cat eyes gleaming with an emotion Alec couldn't readily identify. He opened his mouth, when his eyes widened and he suddenly shoved Alec behind him, throwing blue fireballs at another moloch. It shot out its own flame. The two fires hit each other at the same time. The impact was tremendous, flames exploding around each other with enough force to knock Alec backwards. Angry sparks threw Magnus into profile. 

The crazy hair, tall frame that stood proud and unafraid. Eyes like none he had ever seen, that could hold so much because they had seen so much. Eyes that could make the entire room blaze. They were blazing now, but with fury. It made what was tumbling inside Alec snap; he stood up at the sight of them, pulled closer. Alec rushed forward, propelling himself in front of Magnus just as the flames died away. Two oni demons ran to them, bellowing and Alec's staff shot out, slamming into its tusks. Ignoring its cries of pain as he shouted.

"Go out with me!"

Magnus's eyes widened in shock but before he could reply, he threw another fireball into the crowd, finally shouting back.

"I'm a little busy right now."

Alec threw another dagger as an oni leapt high in the air. It found its mark, blood spattering down on Alec, but the monster kept coming, its mouth gaping.

"Magnus." Alec shouted.

The warlock looked back in response, eyes widening and he shoved Alec out of the way. He collapsed heavily to the ground horrified as the demons rushed Magnus, obscuring him from Alec's view. He screamed, words drowned out by a sudden explosion of fire.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The battle had become a riot, the frenzied press of demons and ancients. Dean stumbled back, unable to keep an eye on Sam as he became surrounded by creatures with smoke for bodies with yellow eyes. They gathered around Dean with shuffling hisses. At the sight of them, he shuddered with revulsion and he quickly shot round and round into them. The salt made them wheeze in pain, but made no move to get out of the line of fire. A shadowhunter stepped in front of him, slashing at them with a bright seraph blade. 

His arm went into a wide arc and the creatures forms wavered briefly before turning to ash and crumbling to the ground. The shadowhunter turned to Dean, a small smile on his face. Dean nodded in thanks and before either could move, a winged creature swooped low, screeching as its mammoth talons embedded themselves into the man. Dean ducked, firing into the air as the beast took off with the shadowhunter. Dean fired another shot and there was a pain filled scream and the shadowhunter was dropped into a tree, the top half of his body missing. 

Dean grimaced, turning his attention to a cluster of ancients, a variety each more gruesome than the last. Insectile creatures with shells and pinchers leapt and scuttled in the direction of Castiel, his trench coat whirling as he darted forward; a creature with eight legs jumped high from a tree. Castiel brought his shield up, covering him as the spike in its center gleamed. The ancient couldn't pull up in time and impaled itself on his shield. Silently, the angel turned, thrusting his sword into the neck of a spider ancient. His blue eyes burned brighter than a seraph blade and Dean unsheathed a machete, racing to him and weaving his way through the crowd. When he reached Castiel, he shouted.

"Have you seen Sam?"

"No, and Gabriel?"

"Nope."

The ground shuddered as an ancient that looked like a cross between a rhinoceros and a python lumbered to them, roaring as it lowered its head and prepared to charge.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary raced down the small hill, the thunderous hooves making her saddle shudder and she had to stop herself from screaming. As the ground became flatter, she straightened. The strange, slightly briny smell of water heightened her senses. Clary scanned the area, a shoreline in the distance and the shouts of men close by. She ignored the whinny of the mare as she kicked harder. The ground became bumpier and she saw the lake and on the beach was a familiar frame. Valentine.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Jace caught Sebastian, tackling him to the ground. Sebastian even laughed as he was hit, even as he countered and returned the hit. The two grappled, rolling down a glossy hill; Sebastian tucked his legs under him and kicked Jace just as the hill dropped off.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary pulled a large stone from the saddle bag and as she got closer, she could see that Valentine had made a small alter of stones and on their smooth surface held the mortal cup and sword. The former held the latter balanced on its rim, though she wasn't sure how. An enormous circle was in front of the alter, burned into the sand with a sickly sweet stench. It had a complicated pattern, with runes that made Clary's head spin. They spoke of binding, submission, and summoning. Not unlike the one that trapped Ithuriel. 

Clary trembled in fear and revulsion. She could see Valentine walk to the sword. Without thinking, she hefted the rock, throwing it as hard as she could. It sailed next to his ear, narrowly missing the alter. He froze, turning in the direction of the throw and Clary was savagely pleased of his glare of surprise as she galloped down to him. He moved toward her, arms outstretched. 

"Ah, Clarissa. This is a pleasant surprise. It is nice to see you again. You look more and more like Jocelyn every time I see you."

Clary's mare plunged violently. "Don't. You don't get to say her name." She snarled.

Valentine merely smiled and Clary wanted to punch him. The mare reared, legs kicking the air, keeping Valentine at bay. Clary could sense more than see his frustration. The mare twisted, but Valentine was quicker, stepping to the side and grabbing the reins. He yanked downwards, forcing the mare's head down. She stilled, snorting in agitation. Clary tried to move away, unwilling to touch Valentine. Her father grabbed her hands, burning her as they gripped her sides. Clary screamed at their touch. She thrashed as he brought her closer to himself, pulling her off the mare. Clary struggled, but his hands only gripped her tighter. Clary's mare bucked, her rump knocking into her legs as she was forcefully dismounted. Clary could have sworn she heard someone call her name but she tried to strike out at Valentine.

Valentine suddenly grabbed the back of her neck and she shivered, cold all over. An ache spreading from the inside of her throat all the way to the rest of her body. Against her will, she went limp and fell into Valentine's arms. She worked her mouth furiously as Valentine scooped her up and to her horror, she could not make a sound. He gently laid her in the circle. Clary shuddered. Though it hadn't been activated yet, she could still feel its power as it pushed against her, pinning her in place. Valentine began to speak to her.

"As nice as it is to see you Clarissa, I would have enjoyed Jonathan's company as well. Jocelyn too, but that can be arraigned later."

His quiet confidence, the casual, almost confiding tone filled her with loathing. 

'So I'm just a substitute. He doesn't even really care that I'm here.' 

Valentine continued speaking. "I am glad you are here. It appears you can be useful after all. Using Morgenstern blood for this ritual is only fitting."

Clary blinked; the only physical thing she felt she could do apart from breathing. Her vision watered as she looked up she saw a scuffle. Two boys-one bright and the other dark tumbling down the hill. They came closer. It was Sebastian and Jace. Shock and confusion at seeing the former were muted at the fierce joy at seeing Jace. She wanted to shout.

'I'm right here.'

Valentine stared as Sebastian kicked Jace down the small outcropping. Clary's heart swelled as Jace flipped in the air and landing on his feet, coming out a tucked roll. Sebastian leapt down to the sand bar. Valentine nodded to him. 

"Thank you for bringing him here." Valentine turned to Jace. "Jonathan-"

Jace shoved Sebastian to the ground and charged at Valentine, wrenching a dagger from his belt. Valentine made no move to stop him, instead he stepped back. Sebastian grabbed Jace with a snarl, ignoring the whistling of the elbow length dagger. Sebastian grabbed Jace's wrist, twisting it to and impossible angle and he shouted as he dropped the blade. Sebastian wrapped himself around Jace. 

Clary felt her rage grow as Valentine halfheartedly watched, standing before his alter, hands reaching for the mortal instruments. Clary stared past him, looking at Jace. Their gazes locked and she felt something shift inside her, sparking and awakening, like great big wings unfurling. With an almighty cry, Jace grasped Sebastian and lifted him over his head, arms shaking with the strain. Face contorted as the other boy thrashed above him. Jace couldn't move every far, as Sebastian moved too much and Jace lowered his arms briefly before shoving Sebastian as hard and high as he could. He shouted, flailing his arms as he soared past the sand, unable to find a safe place to land as he quickly became surrounded by water. Sebastian fell into Lake Lyn with a scream and a splash. Valentine stared at Jace as if he had never seen him before.

"Impossible."

Jace wordlessly dropped low and sprinting, never slowing as he picked up a dagger and raced to Valentine. His father briefly turned his back on Jace to grab the mortal sword. They moved almost too fast to track. In one fluid motion, they struck at the same time. Valentine brought down the mortal sword as Jace thrust forward. They clashed with a metallic ring, throwing up sparks and Clary could just make out a small spurt of blood as Jace's dagger seemed to split. With a grunt of effort, Jace shoved his arm up and the mortal sword flew out of Valentine's hand and into the air. Jace dropped the dagger, which had been cut in half and left the pieces to fall into the soft sand. The soul-sword fell back down and Jace caught it by the handle and leveled it at Valentine. Jace's golden eyes swirled as the tip of the blade hovered against his father's chest. Valentine still looked unperturbed, almost smiling.

"You won't do it. You are much too kind hearted for this."

"Kind hearted enough to do what I just did to Sebastian?" Jace's voice didn't waver. 

"He was a stranger. However I-"

"Am blood?" Jace's voice grew raspy. "Give Clary back."

"Your sister is staying right where she is."

"She is my family and I'll do what I have to."

"Even if it means killing me?"

"Yes." Jace didn't waver. "Because I stayed my hand, so many have died, because I wanted you to be something you'll never be. Do I want to? No, but I'll do it to stop you."

Valentine paused. "Stop me?" His eyes became thoughtful, almost sad. "I think not." He sighed. "I always thought of you as my son." 

Jace frowned in confusion and before he could react further, Valentine's bloody hand grabbed the soul-sword and swung hard. He hit Jace with the hilt, knocking it out of Jace's hands and flipping it so that he caught it by the handle. Valentine plunged the blade into Jace's chest. 

Clary's mouth opened in a silent scream, unending and spiraling upwards as she stared transfixed at the shock on Jace's face, uncontrolled by any binding magic and she couldn't even flinch as Jace's body hit the sand. Valentine walked carefully to Jace, slumping next to him. His shoulders looked so absurdly big, even as they slumped and heaved with emotion. It didn't suit him to have his body shake with grief. Clary wasn't sure if she heard tears, because she couldn't see Valentine's face, his bowed head obscuring Jace from her sight. 

Clary felt no sympathy, only a cold fury at the all too brief, contradictory display. It ended quickly. Valentine straightened, pulling the sword out of Jace with a wet sluicing. Clary blinked heavily in place of flinching, bile rising in her throat. She willed herself not to be sick as Valentine carried the dripping sword in his hands and he began to speak, chanting in a language that made her heart flutter and a voice inside her spoke out.

"The language of the angels. This is for summoning."

Clary willed herself to look at Jace again, his gold eyes dulled and half lidded, the liveliness of his final expression fading. She clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to that glossy, slackened pose be the way she'd remember Jace, but a part of her rebelled. She'd know exactly what he'd say if he saw her shutting out reality. Inside the lids of her eyes, she saw him. Jace flit upwards with grace, smiling with a slight haughtiness to his features. Teasing her. Clary felt her resolve hardening. She opened her eyes in time to see Valentine throw the sword in the lake.

It somersaulted in the air, catching the moonlight and as Valentine walked back to the cup, she averted her gaze, hearing the splash of the sword as she saw it fall into the lake out of the corner of her eye. Valentine filling the cup with Jace's blood. Clary turned her attention to the circle, its intricate pattern blinding her. She stared at a single portion, determined to break it down piece by piece. 

"The name."

Clary's eyes were dragged to the scrawl, the identifying mark of the caster, the one who summoned creator and master. All it needed was a change. 

"Yes, make it your own."

Clary's fingers twitched. Her stele was in her back pocket and every inch she dragged her hand to it caused burning pain to course through her whole arm. She gritted her teeth, frustration mounting as her hand spasmed against the handle. The stele fell into the sand and Clary's body screamed as her finger curled around it, the glass of it soothing against her fingers as they closed around it. Clary evened her breathing, concentrating on the strength of her arm, feeling the energy flowing from the center of herself and spreading out. She wasn't sure how long it took for her arm to raise her stele to the runes, but she forced it to move, dragging it against the sand. The burning power of her stele visible from its tip, runes spurting out as she made this one tiny change. She looked it over and satisfied that it was correct, rested her aching head against the sand. She watched the glow of seraph blades from across the way, cries of pain from friend and foe alike. Valentine threw the cup into the water and its contents flew.

Jace's blood sailing through the air, droplets like rubies scattering into the water moments before the cup plunked into the water. Valentine stepped back a pace, posed and waiting. However nothing happened, but then-

The ripples on the surface of the water became stronger, until they became waves that built, frothing as in a storm. Cresting as it seem to part, swelling on either side as if something was emerging from the water, something large.

"He's here. He's come." Valentine breathed. "Raziel."

Clary's heart trembled as Ithuriel seemed to be in a similar state, fluttering with anticipation and dread. The air quivered like a heat wave as the lake bubble over and a figure began to emerge from the water. The curly hair glistened like liquid gold, droplets adorning the hair with crown-like grace. The head crowned, sending water cascading down sculpted shoulders. They sent up a spray, misting over the lake as the overwhelming heat brought the swell of brine, ozone, and some heady thing Clary couldn't identify. Wings began to emerge, at first as indistinct as bad reception on a television, her eyes squinting for it to become clearer. The wings expanded, unfurling and Clary felt something inside her do the same. Ithuriel. Who was responding to the power that Raziel displayed and Clary felt fierce joy for the angel, as her fear heightened.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to see an angel's true form without harm-at least for the most part. My presence and your mind-your mind protects you with illusion, you'll see what you want to."

Raziel emerged, dripping and glorious. Tall as a building, taller than any she had ever seen, New York City be damned. Yet he was tall as a regular human. Skin bright, not dark or light, but bright in a sense of purpose, of thrumming energy like a furnace. In Raziel's hands were the sword and cup, emerging from the water, the objects gleaming in powerful hands. They were set down so quickly, it was as if they had never been moved at all, and Clary wondered if she imagined it. 

The body was built, more definitive than a Michelangelo, but when Clary looked down there was so discernable genitalia. However, the most defining feature were the wings. Three on either side, thick and golden. At first, there looked like there were individual feathers, then smooth as blades, but what was even more overwhelming were the eyes affixed on each point of the wings. They stared down at the beach, swirling. They didn't seem to have any pupils or sclera, but maybe those weren't needed. Raziel seemed to hover and walk at the same time. 

When the angel's gaze swept over her, she shivered. Pain racking her body at the motion, but Clary didn't want to avert her eyes and they burned from the effort. Raziel appeared to be taking measure of her; power came off it in waves, nearly causing her to seize and thankfully Raziel's gaze moved to Valentine, who gave a happy jump and stood straighter. 

"Mighty Raziel, progenitor of the shadowhunter race. You have been summoned to help save the race you crafted from certain destruction."

"Oh?"

Raziel's voice heated the sand, echoing like a shout but soft enough to be heard next to Clary. There was a whine behind it, like a signal she couldn't quite reach, the whispers of the words that were older than time. 

"Calm yourself. You will know soon enough."

Clary twitched as Raziel's voice filled the lake. Valentine looked non-plussed and frowned at the attention taken away from him. He cleared his throat and Clary could have sworn she felt impatience coming from Raziel, whose gaze bore down on Valentine.

"How so? The Nephilim are a proud race."

"Yes and one bordering on extinction. The demons you have charged us with destroying have infiltrated us in a way they never have before. With their descendants the downworlders. They have entered our politics, our beds, even our homeland. We have been defiled, polluted, and with your help, I will create a stronger breed of shadowhunter. One that will bring back the glory to God."

A wave of fury made the air spark. "Glory? I see into your heart, Valentine Morgenstern and the glory you have in mind is only for yourself. Glory belongs to God alone. Destroying those you call downworlders is not justice, for they have souls as much as you shadowhunters. When Jonathan Shadowhunter summoned me, I gave him my blood because I saw his pure heart. Yours is anything but."

Valentine, startled and insulted, took a step forward, spreading his hands imploringly. "But don't you see-"

"No." Raziel cut him off. "I don't."

Valentine's face contorted. "Obey me! Obey me damn you, I summoned you. According to the ritual, you must grant my wish."

"No you did not summon me. She did."

Valentine slowly swiveled, almost sluggish as if he was under water. At first he was confused. Then he looked down at the circle, then back up at Clary. Shock blanching his features to almost comical proportions and probably would continue looking back and forth if not for Raziel's presence. He faced her, full of fury and shock and Clary realized with a start that this is what he looked like as he saw her for the first time. It saddened her to think that this will be the only time she'd been acknowledged, not just as Jocelyn's daughter, but as a person with her own merits. He advanced on her.

"Valentine Morgenstern."

As if compelled, he turned back to Raziel. He held up his hands.

"Please."

Clary didn't know what he was pleading for. Raziel shuddered, speaking for a moment.

"Quiet little man. If it were not for your daughter, my brother would still be chained in a cellar."

Valentine looked terrified, his face twisting and becoming gaunt as Raziel seemed to puff his cheeks and pucker his lips. Clary squinted seeing the image waver, something far more frightening taking its place for a split second, so that it felt imagined. She let the image drop and watched the angel, as it seemed to spit. Fire flew from his lips, wings flaring up. Valentine was frozen in fear as the fire hurtled toward him, illuminating him perfectly for a second before being engulfed in fire. The fireball punching through him. The fire smoldered out as quickly as it came. Valentine sizzled, a perfectly round hole the size of three basketballs-completely see-through, Clary could see the other side of Lake Lyn through Valentine's chest. 

Valentine stood for a few seconds more before he slumped as if his pull strings had been cut and he crumpled to the ground that trembled from the impact. The hole in his chest still smoking as Raziel regarded her.

"Not too upset I trust?"

Clary blinked. 

"Of course.” Raziel said. "Here."

Something that felt like a caress about her throat that made her gasp and she sat up quickly, the closeness of Raziel felt like a slap.

"Better?"

Clary nodded.

"Since you have summoned me, I can grant you one wish. Use it well."

Out of all the things that she could-should ask for, only one thing burned in her mind, like a neon sign in screaming letters. Almost unnecessarily, she looked at Jace.

"I see. If that is what you wish."

Raziel strode forward it seemed, bending down to Jace's prone form, wings brushing his body. Raziel exhaled, fluttering Jace's hair and returning color to his face. 

"It is done."

"Thank you." Clary croaked.

"Think nothing of it. It is repayment for your treatment of my brother Ithuriel."

"What about your other brother?"

Clary shrieked. It was like watching slow motion, like a plot twist in a horror movie as Valentine gingerly sat up, chest whole and bare. As though time had been rewound. As though he had never been smote by an angel.

"You...who...?"

Raziel stood up, fury radiating from him, seemingly realizing who was speaking to him. 

"Lucifer."

The water rippled. 

"Bingo."

Clary suppressed another shriek. Now, she could tell. The voice was different, not the sound but the quality. Slower, softer. Somehow more intelligent or feeling. She shuddered. Raziel looked at Lucifer, the disgust more of an aura than an expression. 

"Typical. Hiding behind that little man. It explains why your presence went by undetected."  
Lucifer shrugged. "I suppose I was letting him take the wheel. It provided some amusement. Your little toys are very entertaining."

"How dare you."

"No." Lucifer snapped. "How dare you. Perverting our Father's work. Us with those flawed, little insects and try to make them like us." 

"To give them a chance. After your little rebellion, none of the others were interested in safeguarding the universe from the ancients-as our Father charged us with. All anyone wanted was the end, even our brother Michael-"

"Mine. My brother." Lucifer looked murderous. "And you will not say his name. You call me cowardly? Yet you wait until God leaves the room to make your arrogant little pets with our sacred weapons. Why else would you be here, hiding in a lake? Because you thought you knew better than the old man."

"Silence. I made the choices I made on my own terms, with no regrets. Humanity is the future, because they have a choice."

"Free will huh?" Lucifer sneered. "And they always make the wrong choices."

"You only believe so because being wrong means that you have destroyed your family for no reason."

"Oh I have a reason. Michael betrayed me." Lucifer spat. "Just like you've betrayed your kind."  
"I don't have to justify myself to the devil."

Lucifer's eyes danced. "Nope, but how about this. Let's settle this the old fashioned way."

Raziel was all heavenly wrath and he flared his wings, the eyes on each tip widened and began to spin, the pattern making Clary dizzy. She was all but forgotten as two angry angels stood, firm as towers and about to fight.

"Just remember, it’s gonna take more than a little spit ball to kill me."

"Likewise serpent."

Lucifer laughed, striding forward and then, very deliberately crushing the mortal cup underneath his foot.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Across Lake Lyn, the fight suddenly diminished and Gabriel, his weapons all but forgotten, already lost or given away. He looked around in confusion as ancients froze, some in mid strike before fleeing the field. He grinned at the sight, for a moment allowing himself to enjoy it. Demons raced away as fast as they could, but Gabriel didn't feel like giving chase. The shadowhunters raised a cheer and the remaining werewolves howled. There was a hum in the air, one that had nothing to do with joy. 

The archangel frowned. Something wasn't right; like that story about the nun with all those kids. She always woke up with a feeling and it was never wrong. Something in the air and then it hit him. Grace. He realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. A brilliant shaft of light exploded, shooting upwards, the torrent like a flood of electricity, except more. The overwhelming sensation of Lucifer everywhere.

"Oh shit."

Gabriel raced back inside the woods, pushing past exclaiming shadowhunters as the ground began to shake. Trees groaned and snapped. Gabriel looked up in time to see wings crash into trees, causing them to explode, splintering into shadowhunter and downworlder alike. He didn't care, he had to find Sam. 

"Sammy." He gritted his teeth. "Dammit Cas-stupid rib tagging. Sammy, where the hell are you?"

"Over here." 

Gabriel turned to see Sam pushing past two fey warriors that narrowly missed being trampled by a shadowhunter.

"Well that was easy."

"How?" Sam asked. "How is any of this easy?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Ok, we gotta get the hell outta dodge."

"Not without Dean."

"Kid-"

The air began to reek of ozone and another loud crash echoed and the ground began to shake in earnest.

Sam turned to him with wide eyes. "What the hell is going on? That light-it’s like Ilchester."

"When Luci's box popped. Yeah I know. Looks like he's duking it out with another angel."

Sam's eyes widened. "What? Who?"

Gabriel closed his eyes in concentration. "...Raziel."

"What? Then we need to get out of here."

"What do you think I been trying to say?!" Gabriel said. 

"Not without Dean." Sam replied and raced off.

Gabriel threw up his hands and hurried to follow.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Luke felt his pack mates panic as the high whine caused him to pin his ears flat to his head and he instinctively crouched down and looked up. The air was catching fire. Angry blasts of red came after as pieces of fire hurtled down to the ground. He could see some of them shoot off in the distance, briefly lighting up their destruction before they reached their destination. Smoke billowed up, doing nothing to sooth the raw sky. 

Shouts and screams of confusion and panic as shadowhunters and downworlders began to run helter skelter. Still in wolf form, Luke howled, hoping to hear back and when he got a reply, he quickly raced to the wolf. Something heavy collided with him and he fell heavily to the ground. A group of shadowhunters, one on horseback was carrying another smaller, wounded shadowhunter. The horse plunged and reared. Panicking even as Luke struggled to move.

"Out of the way." Someone from the crowd shouted.

As Luke stood, one of the horse's hooves struck him full in the face, breaking both his nose and jaw as was flung backwards and knocked unconscious. The party, already moving, didn't pay much heed where they stepped as they scrambled to get off the battlefield. The howling of the other wolves went unanswered.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Lake Lyn exploded upwards, cascading down like a wave, crashing into the forest, the water flooding Brocelind Plain, swallowing shadowhunters and downworlders, unfazed by the landscape as it continued to flow down the hills and glens, its thin reach extending to Alicante. 

The demon towers began to crack, uprooting from the ground and shaking. Two of them leaned towards each other, collapsing on top of one another. A fireball careened into another one, set ablaze. It gave long wheezing groan, smoking as it hit the Gard, re-setting it on fire. The building protested, fire roaring as the Gard was engulfed in flames. The large demon tower, with its own equally large crack splintered even further and finally split in half. The right side crashing into the square and causing the canal to swell, rushing into the shops, smashing windows and invading wood. The left half slammed into the accords hall. 

Aline Penhallow gathered the children around her arms, trying to sooth their cries as they huddled together in one of the spare rooms where the council members kept their odds and ends. Only Aline looked up, seconds before the left half of the tower crashed into the room, collapsing the ceiling, and crushing the inhabitants as the floor gave way.

Outside the screeching became too high, windows shattered in the shops and homes. Amatis Herondale held dish towels to her bloody ears as she raced to her closet. She ran inside and shut the door behind her. She let the dishrags fall as the grabbed the box; she knew its location by memory. The silver cranes were smooth to the touch and she felt herself calm as she continued to touch the cranes and tears gathered at her eyes. She whispered a litany of names, as though they were with her already.

"Imogen, Celine, Lucien, Stephen. Oh Stephen..."

Water burbled into her house, finding the hard to reach spaces and it didn't take long for her to feel wetness at the soles of her feet. The shops next to her were hit by debris of the own merchandise and foundations. Dislodged cobble stones clattered into rooms and helped destroy roofs. In the square, the angel statue collapsed, broken into a dozen pieces and rolling down a paved street before disappearing. 

The Penhallow house on Princewater Street was flooded. The shoji screen prints floating in the kitchen, the water washing Isabelle's blood off the walls and one Max's Naruto volumes floated past the refrigerator, the witchlight set up sparks in the water. Farther out, in the cottage of Ragnor Fell's, two bodied tumbled together, still together as the ground opened up and caused them to slide down the crevice, their belongings racing down after them as if determined to follow their masters. Outside brilliant bursts of light collided against each other, creating ear splitting cracks, and the sky shook with the effort of containing it. It groaned under the strain and even the fire seemed to be pulled upwards. The stars screamed in protest, even if only a few could hear them.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Magnus carried Alec, both blood spattered as the warlock waded through the water. The briny stench of Lake Lyn rising in the air. Alec, ears ringing and dazed from the thunderous shaking, made no complaint at being carried. At the next shake, the ground cracked in the distance and Magnus cursed in Chthonian. He adjusted Alec with one hand, resting him on his side like a mother with a small child. Magnus didn't notice as he raised one hand with precision.

"What are you doing?" 

"What does it look like? Getting us out of here."

Before Alec could protest, Magnus began to chant. He squinted his eyes tight, face becoming paler and paler as he struggled with the spell. Magnus swallowed heavily as the small, insubstantial portal finally shimmered to life. The earthquake dislodged a heavy boulder. Magnus hastily dodged it as Alec's remaining seraph blade clattered to the ground.

"Hold on tight."

Alec did as he was told as they leapt through the portal. Alec didn't even have the energy to scream as they were pulled in. Colors and sensations blended together as Magnus twisted against him, his words lost to Alec. It was over as soon as it happened, the force of it pushing them out and nearly crashing into a wall. 

Alec held his hands out against the wall, resting his cheek on the cool stones and his nausea abated. He turned to look for the warlock, only to find him slumped in the corner.

"Magnus!"

He wobbled over to Magnus and crouched down. The warlock was remarkably pale but breathing. He opened his eyes a slit before they widened.

"Alexander..."

Alec smiled. "Yeah it’s me."

He helped pull Magnus to his feet. He was taller so when he swayed against Alec, the shadowhunter had to grip him tight to keep the other from collapsing on top of him.

"Where are we?" He asked. 

"...Uh...an alley." 

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Yes but where?"

Together, making slow steps, as Magnus used his free hand to brace against the wall. Sounds gradually came back, the roar of midday traffic coming to life. The alley went out to a square and Alec stared in shock, not caring about the smell of the garbage on either side of him as a red double decker drove past.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Gabriel raced after Sam, who kept shouting his brother's name. They past the flooded glen full of thrashing shadowhunters until a cry startled Sam. Isabelle had been pulled down into the water by a hysterical shadowhunter. She was submerged for only a few moments, surfacing just as Sam ran to her. She elbowed the shadowhunter who tried to keep a hold of her. Her whip shot out and wrapped around a branch and she swung herself out. As she landed, the branch cracked, falling into the water. Sam caught her before she could fall back in. Isabelle slowly straightened up, her whip returning to her side.

"Thanks."

"No problem." Sam gripped her shoulder tight. "Have you seen Dean?"

She shrugged. "I think he went this way."

The three made their way past the fallen trees when Isabelle suddenly stopped, white as death. Sam followed suit, watching as he finally saw what Isabelle was staring at. 

Maryse pinned beneath a tree, a branch sharp at her side. She looked haggard and drawn, but proud as she saw her daughter approach. 

"Mom." She gasped

The sound caused Maryse to lift her head, her blue eyes softer in pain. She smiled at Isabelle.  
"Oh." she wheezed. "There you are. I wondered."

"Yeah, I'm here."

Isabelle flicked her wrist, her whip frantic as it wrapped the tree and struggled to move it. Maryse coughed, her lips flecked with blood. Isabelle's eyes widened. 

"Don't bother with that." Maryse protested. "You have to get out of here."

"Mom!"

Isabelle strained harder, but even her strength was no match for a wide trunk of a felled tree. Maryse struggled to remain conscious; Sam could see her fight to keep, and she turned to him. Even in this state, her gaze was formidable. 

"Take her with you."

Sam found himself nodding frantically and he went to Isabelle's side.

"Come on."

She ripped herself out of his grip, but her mother snapped at her.

"Now is not the time to act like a child."

"But mom, I have to get you out."

Maryse clicked her tongue and smiled. "Listen you must leave. I'll be alright. I'll tell your father what a wonderful woman you've become."

Isabelle swallowed thickly, not trusting herself to speak, she bent low, and kissed the top of Maryse's head. She let her hands get as close as they could. They locked eyes and Maryse suddenly nodded. Isabelle stood up and hurried back to Sam, who gave one final look at Maryse. She had closed her eyes, a slight smile on her face. Gabriel, who had lifted both hands, a little ways off, now, turned to the two.

"Ready? Grab on." He said.

"But-"

Isabelle pushed Sam into Gabriel, whose hand was forced and clamped onto by Isabelle.  
"Alright everybody keep their arms and legs inside the ride at all times." Gabriel called.  
Sam shut his eyes tight. The feeling of flying so disorienting, he clutched tighter, willing the vertigo away at the sound of wing beats and he could have sworn they were being followed. They stopped and Sam tentatively opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered through the trees, quiet snatches of laughter and bird song tantalizing him. The solid grass beneath his feet a comfort. 

Gabriel snorted. "Ok kiddies, does everyone have their limbs and organs intact?"

Sam turned. Behind him Isabelle looked worn, almost green and Gabriel swayed alarmingly.

"I think so. Isabelle?"

She wheezed, giving a halfhearted rude hand gesture. Gabriel nodded warily and shakily slid won a tree's back. 

"Good. So if you don't mind, I think I'll just pass out."

"Sounds good."

Sam slumped down next to him, letting the pleasant and warm air overtake him as he closed his eyes.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean shouted over the ringing, piercing shouts of angels, making it hard to walk. Cas was right behind him, dodging the crazed shadowhunters, who tried to collect friends and family as they ran.

"Sam!"

"We need to leave."

"Sammy!"

"He'll be-"

"If you say he'll be alright, I swear to God-" 

"No I was going to-"

"Sammy!"

"Dean!"

Cas grabbed the hunter by the shoulders and what he was shouting was drowned out, clogged in his ears and Dean was given no warning as Cas put two fingers to Dean's forehead with a look a deep concentration. Dean didn't have enough time to pull back and when he opened his eyes, stumbling away from Cas, crisp clear air filled his lungs. Silence buzzed in his ears. Dean tripped, hastily grabbing a tree for support. He looked around. Nothing but a frost covered field. Not even the distant roar of a highway to go on.

"Dude, where'd you take us?"

"I think we're-" Cas broke off suddenly, coughing.

Dean turned in time to see bright blood spill out of Cas's lips and he hurried to him as his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the ground. Dean knelt at his side, shaking him slightly.

"Cas? Cas!"  
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary seized her chance, racing to the sword and grabbing it by the handle. It nearly over balanced her, the hot-cold sensations running up her arms as she struggled to heft it up. With a free hand she made a grab for Jace. The ground shook, beach lit up impossibly bright, like a blinding search light. Clary zigzagged, trying to find Jace and seeing him for just a split second. She fell to his side, hands all over his chest. 

He still hadn't stirred, but she couldn't worry about that right now. She pulled out her stele, tracing it on the sand, feeling the power, calling it to her as she searched for the right rune. 

'Portal, portal, portal.'

It came as quickly as if she snapped her fingers, feeling the wavering in the air that signaled her chance. She pocketed her stele, grabbing both sword and boy and leaned down, falling into the portal. She felt the explosion as it happened above her, a scream of excruciating pain and the portal cut off suddenly. For a moment she was horizontally suspended in between worlds and then, like a roller coaster, began to move again. 

It was faster than remembered, angry roaring in her ears as they spiraled like a tunnel. Something knocked into her and she felt Jace wrenched from her grasp. Clary tried to scream but she could no longer see and for a few moments, she thought she'd be sailing in the portal forever, but then she was dropped. 

Clary screeched as she fell, body twisting to break the fall. Luckily, it was a short drop and the landing stung more from surprise than actual pain. As she stared, the lights and sounds came rushing back, familiar as the paved road she was sitting on. Clary struggled to her feet, jumping as the sudden blaring horn and bright lights that quickly filled her vision and fixed her in place.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The traffic blared as Simon took a swig of deer blood, his nervousness not subsiding as he continued to watch Jocelyn eye the two hunters. The hotel room was cleaned, bags packed and lined up. 

"So run this by me again. What do we do now?" Simon asked.

Jo's mouth was set in a grim line. "Find Sam and Dean. See if they got out of Idris."

"No." Jocelyn spoke up. "Something is wrong. Very wrong."

"How do you figure?"

Jocelyn shrugged. "A sense. I know Valentine. We were married. He confided in me and what he did not share, I pieced together. There is a way to destroy Idris. By taking down its wards with demon blood or what you have been calling ancient's blood. With the wards down and the mortal instruments in his possession, it would not surprise me if had destroyed Idris."

Simon took a hard swallow of blood. "I did talk with Freaky Pete. He took me to a warlock that told me that he tried to reach the border and...nothing, but the wards were gone, like "the place had never been.” I don't really know what that means, but..." Simon trailed off.

"I do." Jocelyn replied.

She didn't look the same, not the way Simon remembered her. The soft artist had disappeared beneath a hard veneer. A sharp edged woman of calm focus took her place. She continued speaking.  
"We must assume then that Idris has been destroyed. Which means it will be chaos.  
Downworlders will go out of control.  
"  
Ellen nodded. "A given."

Jocelyn eyed her. "The only reason I believe you is because you were the ones responsible for waking me up."

"That mean you trust us enough to come with us?" Ellen asked.

Simon perked up. "Come where?"

"To a friend, he lives pretty far south of here." Ellen said.

"And leave Clary?" Simon was incredulous. "Just pack up and go?"

"As Jocelyn said, it's going to be chaos and folks oughta be warned." Ellen was upset as Simon had ever seen her. "If the boys and the rest-if they're all dead-" She took a breath. "Then we have to keep going. Come up with a new plan. We can't do that here if we're too busy fending off attacks from pissed off downworlders." 

Simon felt his eyes sting, despite not being able to actually cry. "But what about Clary?" He whispered.

Jo opened her mouth, but it was Jocelyn who spoke.

"The last thing I remember was boarding a flight to Paris. I just escaped from Valentine, from the circle, and from Idris. My home, which is in all probability destroyed and my daughter-" Her face twisted in grief, voice choked as she struggled to continue. "She was still inside me and when I woke up she was gone. Went to the very place I hoped she would never see and died defending it. We carved out a life here. A life I can't remember. So no, I don't see a point in staying here."

Jocelyn could say no more, her body so tightly held together that she shook. Simon was amazed that she simply didn't crumple to the floor and scream. Her eyes were bright with tears but she hadn't made a sound. It was almost unnerving. Jocelyn and Ellen locked eyes. The two women stood at least three feet apart, not touching or unwilling to, but they kept a silent exchange between them and it was over. Jocelyn nodded.

"Who's driving?"

Simon stared as Ellen began to direct Jocelyn to the car, carrying a duffel for the red haired woman. The two quietly gathered their things. Jo and Simon watched the former with an expectant look at her friend. She held a knife in her hand as she groped for a duffle bag full of weapons. Simon saw for a brief moment, himself standing high up over the edge and something stretching out below him that he couldn't quite grasp, only that there were two paths of insurmountable consequence. It only lasted for a moment, but it was enough to give him a feeling of foreboding. Which one to choose he wasn't sure. All he could really tell for sure was that somehow, just somehow, Clary had to be alive. Any thought otherwise was impossible. His mind short circuited at the mere notion of a Clary-less world, it simply could not exist. He tossed aside the empty water bottle, blood drying at the bottom. Simon shuddered, knowing he did not want to do this.

"I-I can't go with you."

Jo turned to him. "Yeah?"

"Because if there is a chance that Clary is alive...that somehow we can still help." He continued in a rush. "You're right. I know it’s crazy and dangerous but I have to try." He willed his voice to remain steady. "You understand right?"

Jo looked unsurprised. She smiled. "Of course." Her eyes glimmered as she nodded. "Do what you have to. Just...keep me posted." 

Simon smiled; that would be easy. "Of course."

Without thinking, he embraced her. Jo grunted in surprise, but she returned the gesture. Her hands brushed his shoulder blades and Simon couldn't tell how tightly they clasped. The scent of her briefly overpowered him, but it was over as spontaneously as they came together. The two hastily unlocked and Simon cleared his throat. Without another word, Jo grabbed her things and walked out the door.  
________________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	11. The heart that wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for the short-ness of this one, but it kick-starts the new arc.  
> Disclaimer: I'm playing in Kripke's Sandbox, I'll be finished when I'm done.  
> Warnings: Not really.   
> Word Count: 3,346  
> Enjoy!

Alec gasped. Air punching his lungs, forcing him to breathe. His eyes wrenched open, crust pulling at his eyelashes. Vision blurry, Alec held out his hands, chill air hitting his outstretched fingers. Vague shapes went past, large and obtrusive. His vision went in and out of focus as solid colors pressed at him from both sides. He couldn’t quite hear either, as if he were underwater with a clogged head. It made him stagger, buckling from the strain, and only his shadowhunter senses told him that someone was behind him. Alec stumbled around to try to see what it was, hands flailing and slamming into stone. Palms stinging, the sharp coldness of it clearing his vision and giving him focus.

There in front of him, weaker than himself, was Magnus leaning heavily against the wall. His face sweaty and pale to the point that it made it seem as if his eyes were glowing fever bright. Shaking so hard he could have been seizing and when he spoke his teeth chattered. 

“Alexander.” He wheezed.

Alec blinked. The warlock was about to collapse. Alec had never seen him like this before. Magnus raised one trembling hand and extended it. With this helpless gesture, Alec felt a throb of fear. The gloss of Magnus’s eyes sent another shiver down Alec’s chest and he felt too full, like he might throw up. Spill his life all over dirty alleyway. Alec went to Magnus, drawing the warlock’s arm around his shoulder, hooking him in with his clasped hand. Alec stumbled as Magnus leaned into him, trying to shift his weight and not put all of it onto Alec. He could feel the heat of Magnus like a wave, a steaming scent coming off of him. The slide of anxious muscles beneath beating clothes and beneath all that, the beating organ that was Magnus’s heart. It jackhammered into Alec’s side as his hipbones seared Alec’s waist. Magnus fell into him. 

Alec began to walk, grunting as Magnus’s weight surprising him, with the warlock nearly on top of him. His feet shuffling behind Alec as he struggled to stray upright. Alec could hear his breath in his chest, yet it didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t sure how that could be possible, but it was enough to get him to wake up, and try to focus. Magnus stumbled, hipbones pressing even more insistently into Alec, and he sucked in a breath, vision sharply swimming.

‘Move we must move.’

Alec had the sense that if they stopped moving, they would die. Overheated, his senses flooded as Alec finally got them to the end of the alley. The rush of traffic screamed in front of them. Alec blinked, but it was the fervor of the city-he was too used to New York City’s patterns of life to be startled. It was where he was. This was not New York City. The cars were on the opposite sides of the lanes, their long thin plates white against front fenders. The light changed and as the cars turned down the cull-du-sac, a large red double decker bus turned to the left. At the very top of the bus, tourists clicked away at the sights that left them with happy chatter on the breeze. 

“I-is this what I think it is?”

He trailed off, throat dry. Magnus managed to nod. 

“Welcome to merry ol’ London Town.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
They walked on for an hour, the crowds taking no notice of them; their invisibility to mundanes meant they didn’t have to worry about a panic. Alec winced at the heavy noise. For once, he felt cut off from the world and he wanted to break the illusion than shout at them, shake them.

‘My family is dead.’

Magnus gave Alec a brief squeeze and he nearly cried out at the contact. The warlock’s chest rattled as he spoke. 

“We need to get to the Institute.”

Alec swallowed. “Obviously.”

“I know where it is.”

With Magnus’s directions, Alec didn’t feel as lost and his mind pounced on the idea of something to focus on with gratitude. He pushed back the overwhelming press of his senses until only Magnus’s voice could be heard. The warlock kept mindful of the traffic or an unexpected slam of their surroundings. Magnus tugged Alec to a halt. A towering thing played at the edges of Alec’s vision, making him stagger. Magnus had to help him up and some small thought made Alec find the irony in a downworlder and a shadowhunter trying to hold each other up. He turned to the building, already aware that they had arrived and he was staring at a glamor, which he was tearing away with some difficulty. 

The image of an unadorned apartment complex wavered, like a film reel, until a magnificent cathedral took its place. Its great spires seemed to pierce the heavens, demanding answers. Because Alec didn’t have any to give, he trembled. The leaden sky reflected how he felt; a foreboding overtaking a numbed sensation of grief. He became very aware that the only heat around him was coming from Magnus, warding against the chill of the air. 

He squinted, he still feel the power of the Institute pulling at him, but it was dimmed. As though a great roaring fire had swept down to a simmer. If he squinted hard enough, the image of the Institute and its glamor blurred together, becoming too tangled to tell each other apart as the building itself seemed thinner than a sheet of rain before it slid back into place. It was hidden by the thunderous sky and something else Alec couldn’t easily place. Suddenly he felt the need for the pomp and ceremony of his people and raising his hand, he said the words all shadowhunters were taught.

“I, Alexander Lightwood, one of the Nephilim and in the name of the Clave as for your assistance.”

The doors opened with a creak, knockers swinging as if by an invisible wind and the dimly lit corridor that led deeper inside visible, and Alec felt an odd jolt of pain at what seemed to be suddenly vulnerable.

“Come on.”

Inside was deserted and Alec felt like an intruder. It looked as though the inhabitants had planned to come back. Jackets hung on the backs of chairs, dishes both clean and dirty stacked accordingly, and the guest rooms had pressed linen sheets in their closets. Alec sighed, the sound bringing him to the ground. It didn’t decrease the husky shaking of his chest, like he just finished a heavy crying jag. Magnus’s eyes were on him, he knew and Alec wanted to turn around to see the yellow-green eyes and yet he didn’t.

Alec found the master bedroom on the second floor. It was a spacious room with an old fashioned four poster bed in the center, gauzy canopy drapes already pulled back up at their posts. The light from the wide windows stream down to center directly on the bed. A nightstand at the head of the bed on the left-hand side. A dresser on the opposite end of the room, bottles still on its surface, mirror glossy and reflected the plush sheets and pillows. Not knowing what to do, he led Magnus to the bed and gently eased him onto it. Magnus’s hands brushed Alec’s shoulders, leaving burning trails in their wake as the rest of Magnus was brought downwards to meet the downy bed. 

Alec had a flash of vision, of Magnus falling, as if he would sink down into a depth full place out of his reach. Magnus laid back on the bed, half-lidded eyes staring back to him and Alec was frightened by what he saw. Something soft but dangerous. Glassy sheen over golden-green shade that made a vicious trembling racket in his gut. Magnus still looked aware, expression simple as he stared at Alec. He felt too exposed, head stuffed and heated. Of maybe he was imaging it because in the next moment Magnus had fallen unconscious. Alec reached for Magnus but was caught by himself, watching his hand shake. 

Alec strode out of the room, closing the door softly behind him and he went to a window that overlooked the busy street below. Now all they had to do was wait.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Days passed. What was obvious was that no one would be coming back. London’s Institute had a strange air to it, as if it somehow knew that its owners were gone. Aura dulled by this fact. Mind strangely calm, Alec’s thoughts on rewind. 

‘Mother, Father, Brothers, Sister. All gone except one.’

His lungs expanded with pain, fullness from oxygen made his chest crackle in discomfort. How can he still be breathing? Every time he took a breath, his chest ached and his groin throbbed. His body felt too hot, too tight to contain him and no amount of living could erase that. As Magnus slept, Alec stared out the window, staring at downworlders who ambled fearlessly through the streets, and yet Alec couldn’t bring himself to care. 

‘Mother, Father, Brothers, Sister.’

He watched as mundanes passed by and some spared a glance back at the Institute and Alec shivered, abruptly angry. How dare they stare at those who protect all? His gaze went downwards, intending to glower back when he realized that there was someone staring back at him. With a concentrated intent of one that knows what one is looking at. Definitely not a mundane. They stood at the front of the street, a pearl-sheened pink umbrella obstructing the face. However, Alec had the distinct impression that whoever it was could not only see him, but was actively watching him.

“Alec?”

Magnus padded towards him and like a plant turning to sunlight, Alec twisted his gaze to meet Magnus’s. He looked much better than he last did, eyes back to their usual clear gaze. Although they were looking at Alec in a decidedly soft way. Alec inhaled too sharply, almost choking.

“How are you feeling?”

Magnus smiled wanly. “A little worse for wear but I’ll live.” He moved a pace and Alec hated the distance. “I should be asking you that.”

Alec cleared his throat. “Fine. Fine. I have a question-”

“Alec.” Magnus’s voice was soft. “I want to know if you’re alright.”

“I am.” Alec replied a sharper than intended. He ignored what could have been the quick flash of hurt behind Magnus’s eyes and gestured for him to come to the window. “It feels like she can see us.”

Magnus went to stand behind Alec, leaning to get a better look. The fabric of Magnus’s shirt brushed against his shoulder and he bit his lip. If Magnus was aware of the reaction, he gave no notice of it. 

“That’s because she can.” He said. “I don’t believe it.” He gave a bitter laugh. 

Alec glanced sharply up at Magnus, ignoring their proximity. “What is it?”

The stranger lifted a hand in greeting; Magnus exhaled in a gust and without a word he moved away and out of the room. The vast space was too confining to him and Alec followed. They walked downstairs and past the dining room and the foyer. Another set of stairs. Alec had to take them two at a time to catch up with Magnus. He was already at the door and wrenching it open. The narrow hall seemed to squeeze the breath out of Alec as the stranger stepped forward. 

Rain cascaded off her umbrella that kept her face hooded. She lowered it with a grace that Alec had never seen before to slowly reveal the women behind it as it was closed and lowered to the side. She shook the umbrella, scattering droplets onto the stones and not spilling a drop on herself. Her form was now seen in its entirety. She was the most beautiful woman Alec had ever seen. Energy burned off of her, seemingly in motion when perfectly still. 

The candlelit chandeliers burned overhead, swinging mildly and the glow fell on the woman in burnished patterns, and lighting up the silvery-blonde hair that was put up in a bun. Strands of hair seemed to flare with fire. Her white skin backlit with life, peerless with its unblemished smoothness, and a youth that didn’t belie the cunning in her wide green eyes. When she wetted pert, pink lips, he knew what she was before she spoke.

“Vampire.”

She smiled tightly, but other than that she gave no indication that she was insulted. “Obviously.” She purred.

She turned to Magnus, distress making her look younger. Her eyes lit up as Magnus stared back at her and Alec felt a rush of loathing so strong he almost stumbled. The vampire's gripped Magnus’s with such strength that Magnus stood on tiptoe. Alec noticed she had trim pink nails and scowled. 

“Tell me is it true? That Clave and Covenant is no more? I heard that the shadowhunters home country-”

“How can you even be here?” Alec snapped. “This is consecrated ground.”

Both downworlders turned to him. The woman arched an eyebrow; she looked as though she had taken his measure and found it lacking. Alec bristled at her silence. However it was Magnus who spoke next. 

“She is here because the magic of the Institute is fading. What you’ve heard is true.” He cleared his throat. “Alexander Lightwood, this is Camille Belcourt.” 

Camille gave Alec a sharp stare, leaving him exposed as her gaze traveled between Magnus and Alec.

“A shadowhunter. To use a thoroughly mundane turn of phrase, ‘not so cocky now, huh?’” She paused, frowning. “Forgive me; you’ve just lost your home it seems. I can sympathize. I have had a similar experience. However, I didn’t come here for that. You are both in grave danger. May I come in?” 

“You already have.” Alec said. “Why is this your concern?”

Camille shrugged delicately and Alec was surprised at how sensuous the motion was. She was purely sensuous and she blinked large eyes and gave him a halting smile. 

“A very wise position. As…sentimental as it sounds, because of Magnus….”

Magnus cleared his throat. “Yes…well. It seems we have some things to talk about.” He frowned, turning to Alec.

“What is this sentimentality about, if you don’t mind?” Alec asked. “I know that Magnus has a high reputation for his skills and deeds. Did you work together once?”

The two exchanged glances and Alec felt his stomach fill with dread for some reason. Magnus shifted and Camille wiggled. They seemed to be wondering who should speak first, with Magnus making a hand flourish in an almost sarcastic way. Camille didn’t seem offended, in fact she laughed. 

“At times, yes we worked together when it was necessary. However, a long time ago, Magnus and I used to be lovers.”

Alec choked. “I-I-Y-You what?”

“It was a very long time ago.” Magnus hastily replied. “In the past.” He gave Camille a long look and she nodded.

“Yes, it was a long time ago and has no true bearing on why I’ve come to see you both.”

“…If you must.”

Camille nodded in thanks and she followed Magnus. Alec gritted his teeth at her walk. It was graceful, reminding him of a sailboat, her legs gliding in an effortless and powered in such a way that when one went over the other, something seemed to shake in Alec. Camille looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.  
________________________________________________________________________  
“How does it stand?” Camille asked. 

The three sat in the dining room; it differed from his Institute in many ways. They didn’t even have a dining room. They ate in the kitchen, where a modest table was placed. This room was huge, not only to provide dinner but a place to gather. The table was long, able to seat twelve at least, although for just the three of them, it was spacious. It once must have been something to see. The table, china cabinet, hutch, and grandfather clock all from a dark wood that still gleamed despite their age. A chandelier burned overhead with real candles, wax giving off a slight spicy scent. Wide paneled French windows with thick drapes. Green with spiny vine design, subtle in the light. It went well with the cream wallpaper.

“Is it true?” Camille asked. “Is it really true? It feels as though this is all a dream, almost too impossible to be real. I heard from the warlocks from the boroughs.” 

Magnus nodded. “I was there. Valentine may have been killed, but he took Idris along with him.” 

Magnus began to speak, spilling the story and as he did so, Alec’s thoughts wandered.

‘Mother, Father, Brothers, Sister…’

Shut it out. Shut it out or it will drive you mad and you know it. Know it in your bones what can destroy you.

“…I had spoken to warlocks who tried to portal there and they told me there was nothing.”

Alec sucked in a breath. “Nothing.”

Camille gave him a long look. “Nothing that remains.”

He bowed his head, letting it settle inside him and the knowledge threatened to rip him from the inside out. Allow a few minutes, but no more or you’ll never move again. To dwell in the knowledge that everyone he knew-loved-was dead. Never to return. That he had outlived them, his comrades-his family. There would be no more accords, clave meetings, or clave-no more clave now. Institutes left to rot. He stared at the dining hall. One day this place would gather dust. Dust on the dishes, cobwebs on the chandeliers, linens and drapes would yellow, pipes would rust, and mold would gather. Their magic would eventually fade. They would fade. He had the strangest feeling that he would probably never see New York City again. 

Magnus gripped his shoulder tight, like a brand burning metal. Alec caught a brief flash of shuddering overwhelming-ness that brought him back to the conversation with a slap. He saw that Camille was caught staring at him, but instead of looking away, she continued to drill him, a slight smile to her lips. Alec suppressed the urge to throttle her. Unperturbed, she spoke.

“You may be together now, as fortunate as that is, it will not last. You’re both in danger staying here, to put it bluntly. To be even more frank, both of you are coming with me back to my home here in London.”

Magnus eyed her. “Camille-”

Camille held up a hand, cutting him off. “I insist. Emphatically so.”

“Well I guess we don’t have a choice then.” Magnus gave a rueful smile.

Camille laughed again, as if she heard her favorite inside joke. It was a pretty laugh and Alec hated her for it. Magnus rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t think that-”

“I’ve found that whenever Camille sets her mind to something, it cannot be changed.” Magnus said to Alec.

“Well if she insists.” 

He wasn’t sure if his sarcasm was noticed, but it certainly wasn’t commented on. The two downworlders continued to speak. Whenever the vampire smiled, Alec shivered in disgust.  
_______________________________________________________________________  
That night Alec dreamed violently. He woke up in his own sweat, unable to remember his dream. He shook, terrified and painfully aroused as he lay, limbs paralyzed and buzzing with unspent tension. He couldn’t find a name to this feeling or voice what was to him, unending and that filled him with fear. He needed a reminder of being alive and he let his hand wander down to the waistband of his boxers. It didn’t abate the too full wellspring that was inside him and he flushed, pressing his anxiety into the pillows. Afterwards, when they left, Alec knew he had already bidden goodbye to the unfamiliar Institute and all he longed to remember, the dearness of those things left at the door.

________________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	12. Can't find my way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own em, I’ll put them back on the shelf in a bit.  
> Warnings: Violence, character death, mild racism, and language.  
> AN: Little more plot while Simon has some adventures…  
> Word Count: 14,630  
> Enjoy!

The sunlight filtered down onto his skin, dappling over smooth limbs that would never wither or weaken. He marveled at the way the light played over his body as though it could mark the hours by the turning of the sun, the fire of it making no blemish. Simon looked up at the foliage of the tress, enjoying the light hitting the leaves, which were just starting to yellow. The sun held the sorrow at bay. It was his only distraction from a Clary-less world. Even then, that was something he only half-believed. 

He cradled his cell phone with a free hand, its weight oddly out of place in the light of all that happened. He debated about calling Jo, who must be halfway to her destination, and Clary’s mother along with her. Simon sighed and when he saw that no called him, he slipped the phone back in his pocket. Jo hadn’t called yet

‘…Maybe no news was good news…has to be.’ Simon shook himself. ‘Besides, you stayed behind because you knew it was gonna hit the fan and you need to do your part to clean up the mess.’   
Simon sighed before hauling himself. Still at a loss, he fingered the loops of his jeans and he strode through the park, intent on getting to the subway.   
_______________________________________________________________

The smell of the underground covered him, comforting as a security blanket. Despite the way the crowds now pressed and passed by, hurrying this way and that to their destinations. 

‘And I used to be one of them.’ He thought a pang.

Before, he’d never notice someone like himself as he was now. He would have stopped at one of the stands, bought a pastry or beef jerky and a soda. If he was with Clary, they’d have their backpacks, and Clary would have her sketchpad in her arms with a thoughtful look on her face. Her eyes would be waiting on another world, about to be put to paper. 

Simon stood on the platform, waiting as languidly as the rest. A girl with half a dozen piercings and blue hair fiddled with a phone, her bright yellow raincoat splattered with grime. An older man in a three piece suit and a be-spelled leer with a burgeoning beer gut strained against his polished belt buckle and sweat gleamed on his forehead. In the pervy business man, Simon recognized something in himself. It was in this man’s sweat, in the eyelids fluttering with pent up desire. He fidgeted like prey, wetting his lips over and over as he stared at the blue haired girl. Simon could smell the blood of both of them, overpowering the aftershave of the man and the musty unwashed smell of the girl. Simon swallowed heavily, trying to push down the lust with disgust. 

His cell phone rang with an abrasive jangle and he jumped, now aware that his hands were shaking as he lifted up his phone. The blue glow from the phone lit up his face; his fangs pressed into his lower lip, and Simon shuddered all through himself, willing his fangs to go back into himself. He nearly fell over as they snapped back up. He phone was still ringing and when he looked at the call screen, name bold against the bright screen. He winced.

‘Rebecca.’

Simon stuffed the phone back into his pocket as the train pulled in, the sharp wind tousling his hair as the car pulled in with a screech. As the doors opened with a whoosh, pulling the scent of the humans away before intensifying with the press of the crowd, and Simon hurried inside. He tried to get away from the smell, but this is New York City, there would be no escape smell or otherwise. He chose a seat in the back, away from the groups and sat down. He didn’t stare at the other passengers. He didn’t need to. They were all going somewhere, when he was younger, he used to look at the other passengers and make up stories about what their lives were like and where they were going. It had been a fun way to pass the time, but not anymore. It was no longer fun to watch the direction of others when he himself wouldn’t change. 

“No…”

Simon looked up in time to see two men in crisp business suits staring at him. The flat, colorless eyes were identical to one another. They held no emotion in them. Simon frowned. He could detect nothing. No scent, just a particular wave of…something. Like a heat wave, an aura-less shimmer, clinging sweat-like despite their hard bodies and gaunt faces. There was nothing in their eyes as they stared back at him, fixing him in place, and transfixing him with their emotionless faces.   
They went through a tunnel, the inside of the car going completely dark. Simon flinched. The expected and brief deprivation of his senses made him freeze up as his instincts demanded. It stilled him until he remembered.

‘Wait you’re a vampire…remember you can see in the dark.’

Simon blinked, the two men-creatures hadn’t moved and yet it felt as if they did. Their feet gliding over the dirty floor as if they wouldn’t need to walk; it was hard to notice, it seemed too effortless. So unobtrusive, as if they didn’t exist, weren’t human. This made them even more eerie, their bland eyes shining in the darkness. Suddenly they were advancing and it didn’t matter if there was a crowd or it was just the three of them, the world had shrunk into this one tunnel. 

Simon stumbled back, baring his teeth. The light reappeared, and he blinked at the change, but the two men flinched violently at the sterile florescent lighting. They made no moves to shield themselves, but it made their faces carved and wasted. They stared back; the blankness had a slight hunger to it. Move with the creatures, Simon eyed the doors; the platform was in sight and the doors barely had time to open before he bolted through them. He scraped at them, the doors nearly trapping him. Simon thrashed himself free and tripping over the platform as he collided into the crowds of midday travelers, and he weaved around them. Simon took the stairs up to the traffic and light.  
____________________________________________________________________________________

The Institute stood still proud and alone in the deserted street. The wards that he helped the Harvelle's put up were still there, slightly faded, but still visible to his eyes. Simon sighed, the heaviness of the wind going through him and made him think of the past. How long would it last? The future would become the present and fade into the past, to be remembered with a full or weary heart. Simon shook his head; he didn’t want to say a goodbye that hadn’t happened yet. How long before time took this place, let vines overcome it and become forgotten by all except him?

“An interesting place to find a vampire.”

Simon jumped, whirling around at the unfamiliar voice, his fangs bared. A woman stared back at him. She had thick silver-blonde hair that was spilling out of its bun. Green eyes of glittering intelligence, holding age easier than being held in the palms of one’s hand as if was tangible, and lips that sheathed a weapon. Her smile revealing them as she opened her mouth: Vampire. 

“Hello Simon.”

“Who are you?”

Her red dress made a subtle sound as she moved forward. A slight rasp that made him shiver with a heat that filled his groin. He swallowed rapidly, throat aching; looking at her was like looking at hunger itself. Like a sharp, edgy burning, he felt the hunger as oppressive as a crushed body. She walked up to him, sensuous as a river, her legs moved like the current meeting its intended destination. For some reason the way she moved was more desirable than her legs themselves, of even the firmly shaped and high mounted breasts. A slim hand moved deliberately, the movement painfully clear, pores visible in his new vision. She was like him and that fact suddenly overwhelmed him. 

“Who are you?” He repeated.

She smiled. “A vampire who mourns shadowhunters and their demise. One who still clings to mortal life and can walk into the sun. Truly amazing I say.”

Simon stepped back as if slapped. “H-how did-”

“Come with me and you’ll know.”

He chuckled weakly. “Mom always told me never to go with strangers.”

“Especially ones that are vampires, yes?”

“Exactly. She’s got a pretty strict policy.”

“I’m sure there’s something we can arrange. Unless of course, you want to be tethered to your mother until she dies?”  
Simon snarled, a vicious noise that was pulled out of him and made his stomach ache. 

“Enough. Either tell me what you want or leave.”

She held up her hands with a faint expression of mockery. “If you insist. My name is Camille and I have a proposition for you.”

“Ok, let’s hear it.”

“Even with the shadowhunters gone, it’s still not safe to speak so publicly. I know of a more intimate place.”

Simon frowned. “Fine. Sure.”

Camille crooked a finger and gestured for him to come closer. Simon felt hypnotized by that finger. He clicked his fangs, the two points sliding back up with a satisfying sensation.

“This way.”

She led Simon back half a block to a stretch limo, sleek and predatory in the loud night. Despite his nervousness, he sled into the leather interior after watching Camille slide in first, bent low enough for Simon to remember how his heart would have pounded. He didn’t enter as gracefully as she did, but the door was swung shut by himself, so he trapped himself with her. Simon sat back on the plush seat as Camille reclined into the leather and looked back at him. Her silvery mane swished around her shoulders and Simon resisted the urge to touch a few strands of it. He had no idea what to say. Sitting so close to her that left his body puzzled, sitting next to someone so powerful wasn’t helping very much. 

He could see the lights of the richer district, past the galleries, swanky bars, and restaurants. The streets were clogged with the midnight crowds as the limo slowed down to a winding street and turned a bend to a quiet looking bistro down the corner. A sign at the front, placed in one of the expensive windows promised that the outdoor garden was closed for renovation, but that the terence was open all season. 

Camille straightened up, almost too perfectly coordinated as she moved in unison with her driver, who opened her door for her. Pulling herself out, Simon caught a quick flash of her thighs as the material of her dress rode up her legs. Simon shifted in her seat, fingering the door handle, but before he could do anything, it was opened for him. He clambered out of his seat and the driver arched his eyebrow at the hasty exit, but Simon ignored this as he went over to Camille. He watched as she opened the entrance and swept her arm in an ‘after you’ gesture. Simon acquiesced and went in. 

As soon as he stepped in, he saw that it was empty. At this hour there should have been a healthy night crowd. The interior had an intimate atmosphere despite both its spaciousness and emptiness. A bar stood on the left-hand side, farther away from the windows, but a soft glow of circular lamps beneath the counter illuminated the glass bottled of liquor on the shelves. However, there was no bartender to mix drinks or listen to the people that would have perched on wood lacquered stools. To the right, circular tables were assorted with tall, highbacked chairs. Each one was made with a dark wood, possibly mahogany or cherry, glossy in its cleanliness. Some overlooked the windows, to see the street outside and other tables arraigned to rest next to the walls. Pictures of scenic beauty rested above them. Mountains in the east, dense forests and plains filled with flowers. They were arraigned so that they could be seen in each section and wouldn’t clutter the walls. The cozy cream coated walls beckoned him further inside. 

In the middle of the entryway a sign read ‘please wait to be seated’ as Simon was lead past it as Camille strode along the walking space to the set of heavy stairs. They led up to more tables. Even though he hadn’t crossed the stairs yet he could see them, as the railing that overlooked the ground floor was spacious and ornately carved into geometric shapes. Simon was reminded of an action movie he had seen, one where two Chinese women ended up fighting over a sword…? He slowed, looking up at the ceiling to see an expansive and glittering chandelier, its crystal droplets strung out like spiderwebs that created dangling chains, connecting them to mini lantern-like chandeliers. Those tier lamps seemed more for aesthetics than light, but the amber glow was still there. Simon kept staring as he walked up the stairs. 

The uncarpeted wood creaked with dignity as they climbed up it. Simon watched Camille’s hand as it glided up the banister, slim uncalloused hands, and sharp unpainted nails. Her fingers brushing against the dark wood; their paleness so otherworldly it was monstrous. He shuddered at the sight of those hands, at the way they connected to those graceful wrists, so small it was terrifying. She could break someone in half with them. 

For a second, Simon could picture someone else living underneath her skin, gliding like a serpent and thick in body. Meatily thumping against her organs and sucking down blood. A large thing, stuffed inside, dark and greedy. The image laid over her like a photo-shop of a second skin, a ghost and it stayed over her as she turned to him. Green eyes bored into him. Now they looked faintly plastic to him. He had a wild thought of a skeleton with marbles stuck in the eye sockets. He could see her as dead. Yet what was keeping her animated-alive and moving had a malice of its own, moving her body for her, maybe her brain-maybe something else but-Simon clutched the banister hard, his own hand white, stark against the wood, splintering it beneath him as he realized that if this held true for her, it also did for him. 

“You coming?”

Her mouth moved and Simon nearly gagged as the illusion spread over her face, turning her lips into a sneer as the words moved out of synch with her mouth. Simon, who was already standing a step behind her, enough to smell her pumping blood beneath her French perfume and nodded hazily, and as if a light had swung around the illusion, whatever it was that had gripped him left. Gone as if it never were. He blinked as the colors came back to themselves and the lights returned to their amber softness. Camille smiled and resumed walking up the stairs, the swinging of her hips making Simon feel a distinctive brand of discomfort. 

Upstairs was the same style as it was below; the only difference was wide paneled French windows. Large gauzy drapes pulled back to reveal a view of the terence and the door to its entryway was at the far end of the left-hand side of the room, which seemed to be somewhat rectangular in shape. A bit to the front and to the right, by the terence doors that Camille led him to. She walked right to the table that was placed below a picture of a landscape, a field of bright red poppies. As she began to take a seat beneath said picture, two figures emerged seemingly out of nowhere but Simon remembered the aimless gliding walk of the two strangers he saw on the subway. 

He pointed a finger at them. “Hey! You guys are-they-” He looked over at Camille, who remained seated. Simon deflated. “You know them don’t you?”

“Yes. Please have a seat.”

“What are they?”

“Sit down, please. I’ll explain everything to you.”

Simon couldn’t say what it was that made him obey but he took the seat opposite her and nodded at her look of gratitude.

“Thank you. I have gone to great lengths to speak to you.”

“Is that why we’re the only ones here?”

She smiled. “Yes exactly.” She gave a little motion with her hands and the two men creatures began to move with the quiet efficiency of a butler and one brought around a silver tea tray and set it out on the table. Camille waited until they had finished putting the spread together before she grabbed a cloth napkin and set it out on her lap.

“So…um, what are they?”

Camille smiled in thanks to the two. “My Walker and my Archer. They have been with me for many years. If you must know, they are my subjugates. A mortal that has been given vampire blood because of their loyalty.”

“Oh.”

Camille began to serve herself. “Now help yourself.” She gestured to the tray.

Simon swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable but he didn’t want to look at Walker or Archer either. He had the feeling that he should put what he had to say delicately as he watched her sip her tea.

“But…uh, we-aren’t…uh vampires…we can’t drink…tea?”

Camille broke off mid-sip. “Mmm.” She waved her hand airily. “Yes we can. With practice, you can ingest anything you like with minimal discomfort. Where are my manners? It was impractical of me to expect you to know that.” She set down her teacup with a sigh. “Oh Simon. There’s so much for you to learn.”

“…And you’d like to teach me?” Simon asked. “No offense, but you seem like you’ve got better things to do…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. 

She smiled. “Is that so?” At Simon’s nod, she continued. “Not entirely. I have heard talk, namely that you…are peculiar to say the least and that you refuse the society that Raphael extended to you-”

“Wait what? That’s what he said? No. Basically, he told me I couldn’t. He didn’t want me to join. He pretty much told me, ‘screw you and stay out of my way’. Wait.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know about that and what is it that you want?”

Camille appeared unfazed. “My, you’re blunt. No, I like that quality about you. Now then, I propose a partnership. Ah-” She held up her hand and Simon fell silent. “Please listen to what I have to say before you come to a decision. Now Raphael Santiago is no friend of mine I can assure you. Although at one time he called himself one. When I was the leader of the clan. Yes, not so long ago, I was the leader of them in Manhattan, quite peacefully until I discovered that Raphael had broken the law, murdering and feeding on humans. When I confronted him, he replied that he would tell the others that I was the one who had broken the law-which would have brought doom on all of the clan. He stated he would keep this to himself if only I left and never came back. However, I have returned to rectify that injustice with your help.”

“My help?” Simon frowned. “What would you need it for?”

“You’re the Daylighter, the one who had been friends with the shadowhunters…and what’s more, you’ve stood up to Raphael before.” 

“How is it that you know these things, I haven’t said anything.”

“Talk spreads fast in downworld. There are quite a few vampires who know of you and your connections, well before…”

“Before what? I’m sorry, before what?”

“You haven’t heard? No I suppose you haven’t.” She continued. “The home country of the shadowhunters has been destroyed by Valentine.”

‘So Ellen and Jo’s theory was right…’ Instead, He asked. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’ve had it confirmed by a friend.” 

“Who?”

“An old friend, Magnus Bane. Him and a young shadowhunter were there when it happened.”

Simon smiled. “Magnus Bane? I know him! The shadowhunter, who was it? Did they have red hair?” He leaned forward. “What can you tell me about all that?”

“All that? Not too much I’m afraid. Magnus told me of how the glass towers that kept the demons out had been broken. Valentine created his own barrier, trapping everyone inside and laying siege to it. They said the battle was great and fierce before Valentine destroyed the country.” She took a sip of tea before continuing. “As for the shadowhunter, no he did not have red hair, but black hair. Black hair and blue eyes, very lovely boy.”

“Lovely boy…not Alec Lightwood?”

“…As a matter of fact, yes I believe that was his name.”

“Alec is alive…maybe the others-”

“Told me that there was nothing left. To their knowledge, they are the only survivors, lucky enough to have escaped themselves.” Camille frowned, but she looked sympathetic when she said, “But enough of that. I have come to reclaim my home and you are in need of one. On that basis alone should we endeavor together, yes? I can promise you a good home, a good life. Warm company and you needn’t hunger for anything.”

Simon swallowed heavily. “…And you want me because I’m a Daylighter….right?”

Camille gave him a wan smile. “Very astute and partly true. You have more power than you know.”

She leaned forward, lips quivering girlishly, but her eyes dominated the rest of her face. Simon was at once flattered and suspicious of her unexpected bout of doe-eyed helplessness. Women never looked at him in that way, like he was the detective in the noir film being begged for help by the soon to be revealed femme fatale. 

‘Course that means she’ll try to kill me.’

Camille carried on, eyes serious and wet. “It is courage. That is your strength. I heard that you stepped up to Raphael before, to rally a clan that was not your own in order to save them when you had no hope of defeating Valentine. Something that I will forever be grateful for and in your debt.”

Simon was unsure of what made him speak next. “I had help with that. Wouldn’t have gotten far without them.” Wary of speech, he stopped.

“Yes I heard. A novel idea I assure you. However, together, you and I can achieve much more. Once my clan sees us together, they will welcome us with open arms. Seeing as we vampires are civilized; no one does not have to be killed in order to become the leader of a clan.”

“Alright then…so aside from all that…Look, I’m not trying to be, whatever, but why should I do this?”

“Because you want a home where you can be yourself without fear. There is so much for you to learn Simon. Things you will never be able to have done by continuing to be a shadowhunter’s pet.”

Her voice was soft, but Simon bristled at the tone. “So, Magnus…where is he?”

If Camille was surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead she seemed to realize that Simon would not let go of the topic until he was satisfied. 

“Out of the country. Any more than that I can’t tell you. I don’t want to compromise their safety.”

“Ok then.” Simon took a breath. “So…can I think about this?”

Camille brightened. “Of course. It is a big decision. You will have a week and Archer or Walker will collect you for your answer.” She held up a hand. “Don’t worry, whatever your answer, we shall be on good terms. Just think how much good we can do together.”

Simon nodded. “As I said, I’ll think about it.”

“As they say, that is certainly something to hope for.”

“Ok then.”

Simon stood up and Camille prepared herself another cup of tea. The distinct sensation of a finished conversation hung in the air, lonely and loud. Simon, unsure of how to leave; Camille seemed the type to stand on ceremony, so he made a stiff little bow in her direction and left.  
___________________________________________________________________________________

Simon didn’t wander as usual; instead he had one last resort to use. He went to where Luke’s pack lived. The police station was deserted, the floor dustier than usual. From the few visits he made to their home, Luke kept it relevantly clean. Now however, trash fluttered around his ankles like inquisitive puppies. Sleeping bags rolled up and packed away on shelves dominated any real space. A refrigerator hummed in the background, it drowned out the noise of dying insects and the only light available streamed through dusty windowpanes. A couple of shoe prints raced on the ground. At least a size ten or so. Simon followed them, but they faded after a few strides.

“They haven’t been here in a while. We’ve already tried to contact them, but no luck.”

Simon jumped, whirling to face the voice, and his fangs descended with an audible click.

“Whoa.” The stranger put his hands up in the universal sign of peace. “Easy there. Didn’t mean to startle you man, sorry.”

“Who are you?”

The stranger dropped his hands and extended one out in quick fluidity. He took Simon’s hand in a firm grip and gave a couple of rigorous shakes. His smile had an easy brightness to it, hazel eyes wide. A jolt came to Simon from the other man’s fingertips, as if a joy buzzer was in the center of his palm. Simon shivered and tilted his head.

“Hang on, this is gonna sound weird, but are you…?”

“A werewolf? Yeah. You catch on quick. Anyway, I’m Kyle Jordan.”

“Simon Lewis.” He cleared his throat. “So are you from Luke’s pack?”

“Nope. I’m from the private organization Praetor Lupus-”

Simon froze, the calm he had begun to feel thinning out. His expression must have changed because Kyle put his hands back up.

“Never heard of you.” Simon snapped. “So whatever you’re selling-”

“Just hear me out-”

“Give me one, no five reasons to.”

Kyle sighed. “Well for one, I’m assigned to you.”

“Assigned?”

“Yeah.” He tugged at a chain around his neck, revealing a medallion. Simon could see the Latin inscription emblazoned on the edge. “We find newly turned downworlders like yourself. Werewolves, vampires, even warlocks sometimes. Take em’ in, teach em’ the ropes and some of em’ help to do the same. It’s tough when you don’t know your way downworld. We help with that. I was assigned to help you.”

“Assigned?”

“I want to help you.”

“The other reasons?”

“…You're a danger.”

“Excuse me?”

Kyle continued without apology. “You are a danger without someone to guide you. To yourself and others. You are not affiliated with any clan, so you have no one to teach you or protect you from harm. Praetor Lupus can do that. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, but-”

“Wow, two offers in one day? I’m a popular guy.”

Kyle’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. “Wait what? Who?”

Simon folded his arms. “Now why should I tell you anything? Especially since we’re all alone here. So if you’re gonna sweet talk me, we’re gonna do it in public.”

“Fair enough. Where do you have in mind?”  
_______________________________________________________________________________________

“Well, I gotta say, I’m surprised this was what you had in mind.”

Freaky Pete’s Hunter’s Moon was jammed packed, all the barstools creaking with the weight of patrons, and Freaky Pete sliding drink after drink down the counter. Full tables ladled with greasy food and pitchers of drinks. Staff bustled in with spare chairs that they lofted high above their heads. They weaved around the standing patrons who milled around or swayed to the band that played on a tiny stage. 

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

A waitress came up to their table to take their orders. She gave Kyle a syrupy smile that showed perfect white teeth. When she turned to Simon, she did a double take, eyes widening. She wrinkled her nose when Simon just ordered a ginger ale. She gave one final smile to Kyle before she left to place their order. Simon turned to stare at Kyle, who sipped his glass of water with a buzz of energy. He waited for Simon to speak.

“Alright first things first: who are the Praetor Lupus and why haven’t I heard of you?”

Kyle straightened up and set his water glass down. He suddenly gave off the air of business; his focus was surprising to Simon, who blinked at the 360 change in attitude. Simon edged closer to hear Kyle better. 

“Like I said, we’re a private organization that helps new downworlders get adjusted to being…well downworlders. We usually see vampires and werewolves, and even some warlocks. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a clan or a pack to help them. That’s where we come in. Because a newly turned vamp or were without any guidance is a dangerous person, and that usually means having to get…put down.”

“What, by shadowhunters?”

Kyle paused, eyes widened and he spoke slowly, as if weighing his words carefully. “You know, there were quite a bit people who didn’t believe in shadowhunters. Like they were fairy tales told to naughty downworlders who wanted to break the law. Course, some people say the same thing about us. Yes, we do that, if we’ve been assigned to the downworlder. Although to be honest, it’s usually a pissing contest between us and a clan or a pack. Usually if someone goes rogue, it’s usually them that has the right to deal with one of their own. Or unless, a shadowhunter were to step in, then every right goes to them. Or it would have if the rumors are true…are they?”

Simon, who had fallen into a calm of listening, now blinked as if splashed with cold water. For some reason, he felt the need to look around to make sure no one was over hearing. The bustling bar’s noise competed for attention. The band was preparing for another song, checking their amps and retuning their guitars. Their lead singer, a man with unruly blonde hair was drinking from a water bottle. At another part of the bar, a group of werewolves were standing clustered around a dark haired woman. For some reason, she seemed familiar. Maybe it was the way she stood…Simon wanted to continued observing just to see what it was that made her seem that way, but then he remembered that Kyle had asked him a question and he reluctantly turned his eyes back to the young werewolf.

“I’ve heard from multiple sources that…yes. Yes, it’s true. I haven’t been able to find…anyone to tell me otherwise. They-they’re gone.”

As soon as he said it, his chest went heaved a gusty breath, like his gut clenched at the truth of the words, as if they were waiting for it. He swallowed hard, throat aching. Kyle watched him, eyes soft and he appeared to be debating with himself. His hand extended out ward, hovering in the air before he drew it back around his drink. He took a long pull. Their waitress came back and Simon swiftly turned back to see the same dark haired woman. She had her back pressed against the wooden pillar, her chin tilting upwards to catch the amber light. It made her eyes shimmer wetly. They were a gray flecked with green. They seemed to shift in the light, harder to catch then her glossy black hair. Her neck looked vulnerable in the light, pulse flexing beneath her skin. He licked his lips; the sudden full body shudder was surprisingly feverish. She was glaring at the huddle of werewolves that came closer. Kyle cleared his throat again and Simon tore his eyes back to him.

“So…what now?” He asked. 

Simon shrugged. “The only thing I know is it’s gonna be chaos.”

“Tell me about it. We’re scrambling to-”

A raucous chorus of shouts went up. They looked up in time to see a waitress drop a tray of orders, glasses crashing to the ground, and burgers trampled on underfoot. As she bent down to clean up the mess, a heavily muscled were slapped her ass. She stood up with a screech, eyes flashing wide and gold as she bared her teeth. The werewolf held up his hands and as she bent down again, he made a grand show of not touching her until she had everything cleaned up. When he grabbed at her again, she snarled, wriggling against him. She grabbed a glass of water from a patron’s table and poured it on the werewolf’s head. He swore in surprise and she elbowed her way out of his grip. Laughter rang out behind her. Simon rolled his eyes and turned back to Kyle.

“You were saying?”

Kyle looked as though he was carefully choosing his words. “That it’ll be as you say. I mean, the Praetor is going to do its best to help out, but honestly-” He looked over his shoulder before continuing. “-there are too many downworlders and not enough Praetor to help. Much as I hate to say it, but…” 

“But…?” Simon nodded. “Yeah. I just…” He narrowed his eyes. “Why did you ask me that? How am I supposed to know the answer to that any more than you do?”

Kyle inclined his head. “It’s on your file. You knew shadowhunters, Luke Garroway, and…Maia Roberts.” 

As soon as he said her name he winced, but Kyle’s expression was more terrible. His face looked revenged, aged, and agonized. Like was staring down the bottom of the barrel and it wasn’t enough. The emotion inside his eyes turned them bright, too vivid to be faked or forgotten. 

“You knew her.”

“I uh…we used to…before-but yeah. Yes.”

“…O-oh oh. Oh my-oh G-g, holy-” He choked. 

He couldn’t even say His name for Maia, not even to say how sorry he was. Couldn’t pray for her. His throat convulsed, unable to handle the searing pain that speaking the Lord’s name brought. His shoulders shook. He bowed his head, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyle shake; the other boy didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Simon’s spit lodged in his throat, still gooey from the Lord’s name. His lips were quivering; he spied Kyle out of the corner of his eye. It was like staring through his reflection. Eyes brighter than him, shouting at him as though they were several feet apart. He didn’t need such a gaze being so loud when he was sitting right there. 

Now he was hyper aware. The way the waitress’s heals clicked as she brought out trays of beer and burgers that still sizzled and popped. The sheen of sweat on her bare legs, the way it made her veins stand out as she hurried this way and that. Heavy creaks of barstools that struggled to hold the weight of the patrons atop them. Chairs scraping against the hardwood floor. People leaned back and forth on their chairs. Sharp laughter overlapping with the raucous conversation. Wolf whistles at the waitresses and a few of the women who drunkenly danced, arms stretching to the wooden beams. Beer splashed onto the ground and the cheap amber lights made it gleam a sickly gold. Freaky Pete directing his harried waitress with practiced aim, a faint scowl on his face. Simon turned back to himself, seeing himself and Kyle with a bird’s eye view. Two grim, shaking boys, unable to move or speak. He could see them against the back drop of the bustling bar as the band’s lead singer crooned a rendition of Ozzy Osborn’s ‘Road to Nowhere.’

“Enough.” 

Simon spun around; at first he thought it was himself who said those words, but as he turned his head as if a huge hand had turned his head for him. It was the woman from before. She was still there as three large men surrounded her. She opened her mouth again and Simon wondered where she was from. When she started speaking, he knew she wasn’t a New Yorker. Not just because of an accent, but the tone. No real impatience or whip sharp pitch. No, her voice was soft and slow. He leaned forward to catch what she was saying. It was concise, strained. Simon paused, looking her over. She was standing stiff-legged, feet apart, and lips pulled thin. Three men circled closer. Simon felt Kyle tense beside him. 

“…She isn’t one of us.”

Simon blinked back to Kyle. The other boy was frowning, head tilted. Simon was reminded of a puppy. When Kyle noticed Simon watching him, he put his hands up.

“I just meant she’s not a werewolf.”

“So?”

“…She isn’t human either.” 

Simon swiveled back to her again. Now her back was digging into the wood. Her pinched face sent something inside him reeling. He strode to her. Put himself in front of her path. Her little intake of breath made him shiver. He kept his eyes on the three burly weres’ in front of him. Simon spread his hands out, palms outward; tried to smile. The part of him that hadn’t taken a backseat sniggered at the sudden machismo.

“I think that’s enough don’t you?”

The largest man, who was in the center of the trio, stepped forward. Broad shouldered, with heavily inked arms. He had the look of a body builder gone to seed. There were scars on his face, poorly hidden by his patchy beard. A stained white bandanna wrapped around his head. His work boots thudded against the dirty floor. Simon flinched. The bearded man turned to his two friends-identical twins-and laughed. When the man’s head was still at an angle, Simon threw back his fist and punched the man on the ear. The man staggered back, arms splayed wide as he gave a surprised roar. He stumbled back into a chair. His friends scrambled to steady him. Simon bounced back, cradling his hand and flexing his fingers. He let out a shaky breath. Simon hopped up and down, flinging his hands. The bearded man swung back, fists up and a snarl on his face. His eyes had shifted to a golden hue. Simon swallowed heavily as his new teeth descended. He pressed his lips tightly over them. His jaw ached. The three men advanced on him and a curious buzzing over his skin. It felt nice. He could think without getting anxious. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyle grab the woman and tug her to the exit. The bearded man’s hands were uncurled, claws extended. They were unusually jagged. A grey-ish color. Simon wrinkled his nose as they got closer. He noticed the twins were matching clothes, right down to the steel toed boots. He really wanted to mouth off, but the bearded man growled out,

“Ready to get fucked, fanger?”

Simon choked out a laugh. “You’re really not my type.”

The trio lunged in unison. Simon kept back just as a loud cocking noise echoed through the bar. They froze, under the spell of a fully loaded semi-automatic shotgun aimed and readied in their direction. Freaky Pete held the weapon with steady hands. He licked his lips as the as the three stepped away from Simon. The bearded man was slower to move than his companions, who slunk away. 

“You best be leavin’” Freaky Pete said.

The bearded man grimaced, but said nothing.

“You too Simon.”

Simon nodded. He didn’t bother to wait. Freaky Pete kept the barrel trained on the trio as he sprinted out the door. When Simon hit the night air, he saw Kyle and the woman waiting for him. They stopped their conversation to stare. He cleared his throat. 

“Uh…sorry.”

Kyle shrugged. “It’s cool, man. Uh, this is-”

The woman stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “Lenore.”

They shook. She had a firm grip and in that moment, recognition. A weird deja-vu because of her scent-familiar. Not quite a sister, but a cousin. Lenore’s eyes widened.

“Are you…?”

“A vampire? Yes.”

Lenore laughed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I asked, I just…”

“Yeah, I know right.”

Kyle kept glancing between the two and it took Simon a moment to realize that he was still shaking hands with Lenore. With a laugh they pulled their hands apart. Simon wiped his hands on his jeans, laugh petering out to small chuckles as Lenore did the same. Simon coughed.

“So…um, you’re new here?”

Lenore nodded. “That obvious?”

“Just a bit. So where are you from?”

“Montana.”

Simon whistled. “You came a long way just to get harassed.” He winced. “That was a werewolf bar.” 

“A werewolf bar? That’s something I’ve never heard of before.” Lenore nodded in a slow rhythm. “Yeah. Not entirely sure why I came here.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“Heard it was better out here.” She shrugged. “Guess I was wrong.”

Simon frowned. “No offense, but what made you think that?”

“It was different-I heard from an old nest-mate. How it could be safer here.”

Kyle clicked his teeth. “You have lousy timing. Everything is starting to go to shit.”

“He’s right. There really isn’t any safe place to be right now.” 

Lenore looked down. She bit her lip and clenched her fists when she turned her face back up to Simon. There was a grim blaze of an expression there. A sudden chill when through him. 

“Right. Well. I just wanted to thank you for…for what you did. You didn’t have to and the last time a stranger helped me…well thanks.”

She turned and made to walk away. Simon ground his teeth, chest swelling with something he couldn’t identify. Lenore was carrying away the future on her hunched shoulders. He tried to keep breathing. He wanted to shout. Shout to the world-

“Wait.”

Lenore stopped. Turned.

“I’m going to change things. Have a future-just. Come with me.”

Simon held out his hand. Lenore stated back at him, big dark eyes wide in her head. It reminded him of something. He had no idea what she saw, but Lenore reached out and grabbed his hand.  
___________________________________________________________________________________

Camille stood before them, Archer and Walker flanking her. She took her time observing them. After smiling at Simon she regarded Kyle and Lenore with a slight tilt of the head. She frowned and Simon wasn’t sure what was causing that expression to form. Lenore squirmed under the gaze but held her eyes up and Kyle struggled to do the same. 

“It is always nice to greet you Simon, but I do not recognize these two; you must introduce me.”

“Oh right. Well this is Lenore and Kyle. Lenore is new in town and she’s looking for a place to stay. I thought she’d like to meet you. Kyle is with the Praetor Lupus and-”

“A werewolf. I’m sorry, but this is out of your jurisdiction and interfere is not welcome.”

“They are my friends.” Simon said.

Simon and Camille stared at each other. It only last a few minutes. Camille put her hand on Simon’s shoulder and he squared them so as to keep her nails from digging in. She let go with a smile. 

“Be that as it may, I cannot take him to where we are going. He will just have to wait until we have finished our business. I’m sure he understands.”

Kyle gritted his teeth. “Yes I do. Simon, I’ll be waiting right here.”

Simon nodded. “Will do-and sorry.”

Kyle shrugged. “It happens. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Camille extended her hands to Lenore and Simon. They pulled themselves to her. Simon spared Kyle a backward glance, but Lenore kept a trained and narrowed eye at Camille. She led them through narrow twisty streets that Simon vaguely recognized. At first he thought she was taking them to her limousine, but she continued to stride down roads that became progressively dirtier. Graffiti scrawled over the cracked walls and boarded up windows. Lenore’s eyes darted this way and that, body swinging from side to side in a way that made Simon think of an agitated cat. It took him a moment to notice that she walked closer to him. He peered over the top of her head when he heard disjointed rap music from across the way.

It sounded like a witch’s chant from this distance, low voice permeating inside their ears from wherever building it was coming from. A police siren wailed in the distance. The moon hung high in the sky and Simon could have sworn he heard a howl in the distance. A familiar boarded up building came into view, like a figure rolling in from the fog. It was in even more disrepair then before. The tarp had been replaced and this time was kept in place with slats of boards and chains. New scrawls of spray paint in angry slants covered cracks in the plaster. The Dumort rose up like an angry ghost. Simon sucked in a breath, said a non-existent prayer as Lenore grabbed his shoulder. Ahead of them, Camille clicked her tongue. 

“The nerve of him…”

Lenore mouthed ‘who?’ at Simon, but Camille beat him to the punch. She regarded Simon and Lenore and smiled tightly with her teeth making indentations even when hidden behind her mouth. Simon kept his eyes fixed on the Dumort. Lenore let out a gusty sigh.

“Have no fear, I will let no harm come to either of you.” Camille said. 

Simon’s throat made a clutched noise and gave no other response. Lenore kept glancing between Simon and Camille. The older woman gave a fuller smile, until it was just bared teeth.

“Come.” 

She gave an imperious finger twitch and she swayed her hips towards the urban sprawl. Lenore grabbed Simon’s shoulder before he could follow. 

“Is this a trap? What’s happening?”

“She wants to confront Raphael, the vampire who took her place as leader. Now she wants it back.”

“Should we do this?”

“…Better hurry up, or we’ll be left behind.”  
____________________________________________________________________________

Camille strode into the front entrance, leaving Lenore and Simon hurrying in her wake. Vampires lounged on tattered couches and creaking stairs. Simon recognized some of them from the last time he had been inside of the Dumort. Some of them caught his eye and bared their fangs. Simon clenched his throat, eyes blinking as if sand had been poured into his eyelids. Teeth slick with his spit; he almost spat it out. He wanted his teeth to fall out and clatter to the ground. He puffed his cheeks out; the heaviness of his flesh making him shudder. Simon and Lenore pressed closer together.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lenore’s lips were twitching. Teeth peeking out and flashing in the dim pockets of light, and her claws were extending and retracting in rapid fire succession. She was breathing through her nose. Simon had to look up-away from her. Camille had frozen in a calm stance, unlike the rest of the creatures, which had all stiffened like hunting dogs on point. They had all turned their heads upwards in unison, straining as Raphael Santiago strode down from the dilapidated balcony and leapt down to the floor. Only a puff of dust plumed up at his feet. It swirled up to his eyes as he smiled, slow and liquid. His eyes narrowed, black chips that glittered wetly without any light to give them a reflection. Raphael kept his hands still at his sides; the fingers slim and perfect columns of power. 

Simon shivered and the motion caught Raphael’s attention, his head swiveled and Simon was reminded of a raptor, with big eyes leveled in his direction. Simon couldn’t discern the expression, but he took a step back and tried to keep Lenore behind him. Raphael’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He ignored Lenore in favor of turning his attention to Camille. For a split second, his face morphed-like his flesh was mutable clay in some deranged animation-lips pulled back over a hole with picks. Eyes becoming impossibly wide and sinking farther into the skull all at once. Nose pressing back and up, like a pig’s and lips wrinkling back and teeth crowding inside. A never ending black throat. Then it was gone. It smoothed over into a placid smile. Eyes crinkling up at the corners. He spread his arms wide.

“Camille. Always a pleasure.”

“No.” She said. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Then tell me, what is your pleasure?”

“To return home.” Her eyes shone. “Our people can rejoice, for I have returned.” 

Raphael shifted, his heels digging into the carpet. He gave a deliberately slow blink of his eyes and he made a show of swiveling to face the rest of the clan. At their shifting glances to each other, he ignored but he nodded his head at the few leers in the crowd. Vampires murmured to each other, glancing back and forth between Camille and Raphael. Some of them leaned forward, peering through the darkness like eager cats. Others slunk back, teeth gleaming even in shadow. Dashes of color flashing through building. 

Raphael exhaled through his nose so sharply it was a whistle. It lowered down until it turned into a laugh that ended with a click of his teeth. Camille wriggled her hips, shoulders shaking as she laughed. It ended abruptly. She straightened herself up.

“I have returned. I have come to lead our people once again.” 

“Have you now?”

“Yes. Yes I have. The life I have promised us has always been in my grasp. With me it can be realized once again.”

“You speak of fairy tales.”

“Not so.” She said. “Shadowhunters-”

“It doesn’t matter. You have led this clan to ruin and will do so again-”

“How? By my eyes you have taken our people out of a comfortable life and taken them to a place of destitution and fear. Told tales about me.”

“Only the ones that are true.”

“As well as keeping your own exploits from reaching ears. Never mind that now. The past is irrelevant to the future.”

“A future that no doubt includes Simon Lewis.” He scoffed.

“Yes. A vital part. He belongs here.”

“No he doesn’t. He has no desire to be one of us or be in our company. Even if he did, he has no place among us. He will bring ruin to us all, I know it.”

Camille laughed. “What a foolish old man you’ve become in your old age. I remember a time when you were fearless.”

“Yes. It was also a time when I was naïve to your tricks and talk.” 

“How cruel.”

“Even now you talk. I suppose the sayings are true: you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.” 

“Yes, what a pair of old dogs we make. Come, let us see what we can trick up shall we?”

“Yes.” He whipped his head to Simon. “You have no place here. You bringing her here proves that. You know not what you do.”

Simon scoffed. “I think I’ve got the basics thanks.”

Raphael sneered. “A boy playing at being a man.”

“Yeah well, I know you aren’t much better. You’re actually stuck as a boy.” 

Raphael snarled. Camille licked her lips and then put her hands together in a placating gesture.

“You are my second. When I made you my second, it was with the trust that you would be by my side in council or in spirit. When we would meet face to face I chose you because you would not do this. By law, I am the rightful ruler of this nest.”

“Unless you are deemed unfit, which I have done so. For your crimes-”

“That you committed!”

The rest of the nest kept turning their heads as if watching a particularly riveting tennis match. Their whispers became shouts and they swarmed the balcony and the edges of the strangers. Their teeth made a chittering sound as numerous jaws worked up in down in tandem. Their lips had a pinkish sheen to them. They leaned forward as Raphael’s lips pulled back again.

“I will never acknowledge you!” Raphael spat on the floor at Camille’s feet.

Camille didn’t react beyond a slight twitch of muscle. She extended her hand, palms, up, and empty. His vision slowed and he caught the motion of her wrist as it glided forward. He still couldn’t stop the motion as her fingers brushed Raphael’s shoulder. Raphael moved with unprecedented speed. His hand shot out, grabbing Camille’s wrist. He snapped it and she screamed. Raphael yanked her broken wrist, her arm sailing forward and in one smooth motion, flipped her over. Camille slammed onto her back with a hiss of pain. Raphael still held onto her wrist, bringing up his foot. His heel rushed to meet her neck and Simon’s feet finally moved. 

Simon slammed into Raphael. Breaking Raphael’s grip on Camille, who quickly disentangled herself from the two men. She cradled her wrist. The surrounding vampires howled and bayed as Raphael and Simon thrashed on the ground. They sprang apart. Raphael snarled, a guttural well spring of aggression. His mouth open to reveal the long rows of teeth. Simon pulled back his lips to reveal his own gaping maw. Simon was aware that a part of himself was starting to fade into the background. The nervous buzz that had been building since the moment they came into the Dumort seemed to evaporate as a hyper-calm eased into him. This was inevitable-it was going to happen and he knew it since he came inside. Now that it was actually happening, he could focus. Raphael was starting to move, shoulders up in a smooth walk. Simon crouched down, hands outstretched and claws bared. 

They circled each other. Simon could hear himself as if from far away. A raspy snarling that came from the pit of his stomach and rumbling up past his throat and spilling out of his mouth. It became progressively louder until his chest rattled as Raphael advanced. Simon’s eyes widened as Raphael’s face twisted. Raphael lunged and Simon darted to the side, tucking his body into a roll and sprawling at the feet of a group of vampires. He looked up to see their leering teeth and flashing eyes. They leaned forward and Simon bolted up, nearly careening into a lunging Raphael. He dodged, Raphael’s claws glancing his cheek. A few stray hairs fluttering past his eyelashes. 

Simon ducked low as Raphael curled his hands into fists and barreled at him. Raphael gave a couple swift uppercuts and Simon tumbled backwards, only able to bring his arms up to block an advancing blow. Simon’s arms hummed with the impact, his own fists slamming into his forehead. Simon tripped over his own feet, hitting the carpet with a thud. Plumes of dust and mold rose around him. Raphael cut through the dust as he descended down onto Simon. He straddled Simon, knees pinning his hips in place. Raphael raised his fists up again. Simon wriggled his torso and bucked his hips, but he was locked into place. One fist crashed down and Simon jerked his head, missing him by inches, then the other fist and Simon moved again. Raphael flexed his shoulder in that same moment that Simon brought up his head and cracked it against Raphael’s. 

The older vampire stumbled back, blood streaming from his nose. Simon slithered out from under the other man and raced past him. A gap in the throng of monsters and Simon bolted through it. Their hands reached for him, fingers tearing at his clothes. The hands that caught hold of him tugged at him, trying to get him back to the center where Raphael had now stood. Simon could see other vampire walking toward him out of the corner of her eye. He gritted his teeth, hands straining to reach the door that lead to the servant’s hallway. 

His hands grasped the handle just as a burly blond vampire grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking so hard Simon’s feet scraped at the ground. His other hand smacked into the door frame just as his leg swung up and hit the blond in the sternum. The holds on Simon loosened enough for his legs to crash into the door and slam it open. Simon swung into the servant’s hallway and he pushed the door behind him. Slams from the other side reverberated through him. 

Simon waited for a moment, looking down the sides and seeing the stairs that he and Jo once ran up being clear, he raced to them. This time he made it up them and down the corner by the time vampires opened the door to give chase. However, as he raced up the familiar entryway to the upper floors, he heard no one following him. He slowed down; the vampires on the balcony were moving. Carpet muffled his footsteps as he stepped through the doorway. Quick darting forms moved about ahead of him. Simon peered over the edge of the railing. He could see the balcony that Jo had been surrounded on and the first floor where he was moments before. He saw Raphael. The older vampire looked directly up at him. Simon pulled his head back just as group of vampires swarmed around him. He shouted as their arms tried to wrap around his. On the other side of the railway, he could see more vampires running to him. 

Simon kept his fists up, feet weaving as vampires pressed at him from all sides. Snarls assaulted his ears. He dodged the group, hands uncurling and stretching outwards. He grabbed a wooden desk and hurled into the mob of vampires. It slammed into the three vampires that were closest to it. They didn’t throw up their arms to protect themselves as the desk shattered on impact. Some hissed in surprise. Simon spotted a lamp to his left and without taking his eyes off his opponents, snatched it off the ground and brandished it like a sword. When one on the left came to close, Simon struck hard, the cord whipping the bridge of the man’s nose. As Simon pulled back his hand, the other monsters rushed him. Simon froze.

“He is mine to kill!”

Raphael stood on the railing, braced on the wood, paint flaking off under his shoes. The rest of the nest backed off. They gave Simon ample room and the moment he had a clear shot, he threw the lamp at Raphael. Raphael batted it aside with a backhand. The lamp flew through the air and it shattered on an uncarpeted part of the floor, sending a small cluster of vampires to scatter. Raphael hopped down from his perch, but Simon was already moving backwards as the rest of the vampires gave him a wide berth. Simon noticed a grandfather clock down the hall and above it a piece of tarp was stretched taunt in a mid-sized rectangular shape. 

‘A skylight.’ 

Simon’s eyes widened and he ran to the spot. His fingers struggled to get open the glass case that revealed the pendulum. Curses spat out of his mouth and he fumbled with it. He smashed the glass casing. Glass still clung to the frame but Simon took one big chunk and put it in his pocket. He grabbed the pendulum from inside the clock and jumped up. The pendulum caught the tarp’s edges, jagged edges, ripping at the plastic. His fingers caught hold of the material and tugged down. He hung there for a moment, looking down to see Raphael hurrying to him. Simon grabbed another handful of tarp, its ripping loud in his ears. Once it came loose, Simon fell to the ground. A small patch of sunlight fell where the tarp had been. Raphael stopped short, squinting his eyes and he sneered.

“How can you expect to overcome me if you stand there all day? I don’t believe your patience is a virtue.” 

“You don’t say.”

Simon put the pendulum in between his teeth and grabbed the grandfather clock with both hands. Raphael scoffed, but didn’t move. Simon tugged the clock forward, grunting at the suddenness of its weight. It stood about half a foot taller than him and was probably about as heavy as him. His hands slid down to grip the middle and he lifted it up. His arms shook and he pushed it above his head until his arms fully extended. Simon stared upwards, the buttery yellow sunlight crisp against his eyes as if to paint a target. The taste of copper filled his mouth, teeth clenching hard around the metal in between them. Simon tossed the clock upwards. It went with enough speed to go through the skylight and land on the roof with a thud. Simon leapt up and grabbed edges of the window. His arms strained to hold him as he pulled himself out the window and onto the roof. 

Simon turned to see the grandfather clock was miraculously still on the tiles of the roof. He scrambled to it, tiles burning where his hands touched them. Simon’s shoulders sagged for a moment; the sun was pleasant on his back as he recalled the interior of the Dumort. Once he found what he was looking for he made a grab for the clock. A patch in the roof caught his attention. He spat the pendulum into his hands, its weight reassuring in the light of day. He brought it down on the boarded up patch. Splinters flew into his face, cutting his cheek. He slammed it down repeatedly until the wood gave way to form a small hole. Peering into it, the beams for the ceiling were warped in some places, and dark with age. The rafters connected together at the corners, almost appearing to be welded together, but when Simon squinted, he could see the cracks. He peered past that to see the chandeliers that still held their candles and even past those to see the first and second floors. Groups of vampires milled around in tight clusters. 

Simon put the pendulum back in his mouth and gripped the clock. Simon pushed the clock and angled it down towards the hole. He shoved hard and the wood gave little resistance without the tiles to bolster it. The clock groaned in protest moments before it cracked the hole wider and then teetered for a moment. The wood snapped and the clock careened downwards. Simon watched as it fell into a wooden beam, which snapped on impact and caused the building to shudder. The clock slowed a bit as it crashed into the balcony, catching on the railing and pulling it down as it continued to fall. It scattered the vampires below it, but one was unfortunate enough to get smashed beneath it. 

Simon could see the hand shaking in an attempt to get out from under the clock. Screams of pain and surprise spiraled up to his ears. The hole in the roof was at least three feet wide now and sunbeams hit the ground floor. Simon leapt down the hole and landed on a wooden beam. It shuddered from the inclusion of his weight. He peered in through the darkness. Vampires scrambled to move back from the large patch of sunlight; some of them smoked a bit at their edges. There was a spitting laugh somewhere in front of him. Up on the opposite end of rafters stood Raphael, and his hands shook. Simon grabbed the pendulum from out of his mouth and held it out in front of him.

Simon heard the wood creak as he shifted his weight and stood. Raphael shifted his stance wider and they moved in unison, racing to meet each other. The wood shrieked as the two raced over its surface. Simon leapt high just as Raphael was within arm’s length. Simon brought the metal rod down just as Raphael ripped a chunk of a wooden beam and their weapons slammed into each other. The wood shattered in half and the rod flew up and clattered onto the balcony. The two sprang apart and Simon grabbed for a higher beam. It connected to a smaller piece that connected to the roof. He ripped it from its mooring, leapt from his perch to another one, throwing the large piece of wood before he landed on the other beam. 

It delivered a glancing blow to Raphael’s arms, causing lines of blood to appear. Raphael leapt to another wooden beam. Simon leapt back and ripped out another wooden beam. The structure groaned in response, but Raphael mirrored his action. He flung a rather jagged piece of a beam like a javelin. It screamed in air and drowned out Simon’s shriek. He moved and it missed him by inches. Another shrieking came from overhead. Simon looked up in time to see a boudoir hurtling down. Simon ducked low as the dresser shatter into the warped beams overhead. A doorknob hit his shin. Wincing, he grabbed the doorknob before it fell to the ground. It was warm in his hand. He stuffed it in his pocket and took the wooden beam and broke it in half. His arms shuddered at the effort, but he used the two ends to swat away the remaining debris of dresser. 

Simon kept his head ducked as he scanned the area. The windows had been re-taped and boarded up. He swept his gaze around to see the chandelier. It had seen better days. Cobwebs coated it and cracks crisscrossed where it was chained to the ceiling and its candles clung down to their stubs. Simon kept looking at the ceiling, finally landing on Raphael. He stood up, the last remains of the broken boudoir falling around him. Simon moved onto another beam that would lead him straight to Raphael. Running right to Raphael, he gave a whooping yell as he mimed a spear motion with the wood. Raphael tensed but Simon flung the beam directly above the elder vampire’s head. The plaster above him shuddered and strands of sunlight peeked through. It gave his shoulders a soft glow and Raphael hissed. He swung out at Simon, but had to duck back into the shadows. Simon pivoted to avoid the lean muscles of Raphael’s limbs, and put in a burst of speed. Keeping his eyes trained on the chandelier, he leapt high. Fingers catching on one of the low hoops of the chandelier, he gripped the metal tight as the cobwebs sunk down from the sweat of his hands. 

It creaked in protest from Simon’s unexpected weight, but it moved from the momentum. He thrashed and it sent a jitter up to the ceiling. His feet dangled, struggling to get speed. He squirmed like a worm on a hook until his feet found purchase by a ceiling corner. Simon kicked off. Raphael moved to intercept him, but Simon chucked the second piece of beam above, breaking the plaster overhead, moments before Raphael dashed under it. The other man swerved to avoid the new patch of sunlight. Simon pulled up sharply as Raphael leapt too close for comfort and Simon managed to gain enough speed to act. He kept his arms around the thick column at the base of the chandelier. Pulling out the doorknob and the chunk of glass from earlier, he beaned the doorknob hard as he could. It hit Raphael square in the face. Simon bolted as the doorknob was thrown back at him. It ricocheted off a wall and almost clipped Simon’s ankle. He pulled his legs in tight. Raphael flung furniture at him, wood splintering on impact moments before Simon could dodge. Simon screamed as his own force flung him and when he was close to the tarp covered windows, he extended his arm to its full length. Glass in hand, once it touched the tarp and at his speed, it gave. Simon slowed, arm shuddering as the tarp ripped. Sunlight poured in from behind him, like water given direction.

Tarp hung in shreds, hanging by their threads. Simon had been considerably slowed down, but he had enough momentum left to avoid the large, melodious thrum. Simon looked up in time to see Raphael drag down a piano and push it to him. Simon yelled, kicking off to the next window. The piano was headed right for him. Simon dropped down, fingers grazing the crystal droplets and gripping tight on the last of the large hoops of the bottom rung of the chandelier. The piano sailed above him, it missed him. Its legs rattled the chain connecting the chandelier. Both shook. Simon struggled to keep his grip as the piano sung past. It crashed into the tarp. The dark fabric didn’t stand a chance, ripping and pulling apart from the force. The piano took the tarp with it as it sailed out the window. It crashed with a spectacular ringing. Simon could just picture the keys scattering all over the pavement like broken teeth. The screams of pain from inside cut the imagination short, as sunlight once again poured through the windows. Raphael’s shout of anger as he screamed at him in Spanish.

“Hijo de tu chingada madre!”

Raphael leapt down onto the chandelier. It shuddered underneath his weight and Simon’s fingers jiggled, sweat making the cobwebs stick to him. It was that that kept him from falling. Simon yanked hard, trying to pull himself up. Raphael’s foot cracked on Simon’s fingers. He yelled, the steel toed dress shoes digging into his fingers, the flesh grinding from the force. Simon gritted his teeth, arms straining as he pulled himself up. His legs touched two wooden beams. Raphael was yanking the chandelier upwards and trying to pull Simon off it. Simon dug his feet in, wrapping them around the beams as far as his sneakers would allow. 

Simon bent his knees, pulling the chandelier to him. Raphael yanked it hard in reply. The two kept up their tug of war for minutes. The strands of crystals shook, the sound growing as the giant lamp groaned from the tension. Simon pulled it closer to him, unwrapping from his perch when strands of crystal grazed his chin. He pushed off and they shot off. Raphael shouted a much longer phrase in Spanish that Simon couldn’t catch. Simon pulled himself up just a strand of crystal ripped and Simon grabbed a thicker one in response. Raphael snarled, another foot coming down on Simon’s shoulder. The suddenness of the movement made the chandelier swerve. Just as Simon found the base of the thing, he tumbled from the movement. The chandelier went in a broad circle. Simon threw a punch and missed, he forced his other fist into an uppercut. It connected with Raphael, who brought his knee up and Simon caught it in the chest. The movement made them change direction. Raphael kept his feet light as he charged at Simon, who feinted low and to the side. His claws extended right as Raphael kicked him in the chest. Simon’s claws pierced Raphael’s thigh and dug in, the fabric from the pants keeping Simon’s claws from being easily removed. 

The chandelier had become a tilt-a-whirl as the two vampires traded blows. Simon used one hand to keep steady and the other one to block or defend, but Raphael was freer with his technique. The chandelier groaned, its chains creaking and finally ripping in places. The long chains of it streamed behind them. They clinked together to make a faint noise, but-

Raphael gave a swift uppercut to the face. It came in tandem with a deep wrenching noise. The force of the blow was enough to make Simon’s vision short, and when the world finally clicked back into place he realized that the chandelier had come loose. Simon moved just as they careened to the right. He froze, hands clenching the trunk of the chandelier. Raphael darted forward and their ride jolted and Simon’s eyes sharpened to see a screw fly past them. 

Raphael’s hands grabbed him and gripped Simon’s wrists. Simon gasped, eyes watering. The chandelier yanked, the broken strands flew up and whipped down. The pearl sized droplets wrapped around Simon and Raphael, tangling from their movements. A deep groan came from above as the chandelier could no longer hold them. Bits of plaster fell into Simon’s hair and he tried to blink it out of his eyes. Beside him, Raphael thrashed. The movement pulled Simon closer to the other man. Simon’s claws were twisted so deep that it he was up to his knuckles in Raphael’s thigh, the blood dribbling out, making Simon dizzy. They hung suspended as the chandelier was on the verge of being ripped completely out of the ceiling. Simon struggled not to breathe deep, his mouth choking back the bile as Raphael’s fangs got too close to his shoulder. The other man’s eyes seethed with pure hate. 

“Daylighter-”

The chandelier fell. Simon screamed. With nothing to prevent their descent, Simon tried to pull the ropes of broken chandelier off of them. Chunks of plaster flew past them; sunlight warm on Simon’s back. Raphael screamed in his ear, obscenities rattling in his ear drums as spit wetted the side of his face. 

“Just hang on to me!” Simon managed to shout. 

Raphael cocked his fist a second before punching Simon in the throat. It had enough force to dislodge Simon’s claws and flung him up and away from the falling chandelier. White spots burst in Simon’s eyes; color and motion fritzing as he flailed his arms and legs. He hit a ceiling beam in the stomach and retched. His eyes returned to normal as he hung there, vision becoming perfect in time to witness Raphael. 

He collapsed with the chandelier, which shattered in places. The hoops and broken strands came together to good and truly entangle and trap Raphael. Raphael bellowed in pain. Plaster still fell around him, large chunks smacking the carpet. A rough hewn circle had been torn away from the rest of the ceiling. Sunlight blazed down from above, it formed a perfect spotlight on Raphael, who was powerless to move from it. Welts formed all over bare flesh, smoke began to curl out from the angry patches of skin. With every move, he entwined himself deeper, until the stands dug into him and blood spurted onto the ground. It was so bright against the sunlight and the shoddy carpet. Simon’s throat clenched as his fangs ached in his mouth. 

Raphael’s skin sizzled and popped, the burning smell reminiscent of bacon. Simon noticed none of the other vampires dared to pull him out. They all skirted the edges of all the holes filled with light. Simon shakily got to his feet. His knees buckled once and he grabbed the beams to stay up. From this height, he could find anyone. He dragged his eyes away from Raphael to the rest of the nest. Most looked horrified, but in a strange spectator sort of way. A kind of intensity that Simon rarely saw. He searched for Lenore and saw she was standing next to Camille, and he was struck by their expressions. Lenore was shaking, eyes glossy as her hair. She was behind Camille and closer to the back of the room. She was standing in a patch sunlight as well, but Simon realized he was the only one who noticed. No one else was looking at her. As for Camille, she was staring as if she had just had a fascinating point brought to her attention. Wide eyes and a slight smile.

Simon stood straighter and moved forward. The sun warmed him as he moved to part of the beam that once held the chandelier-it was barely holding on. Simon, with his back to the sun moved to it, until he was blocking it. Camille’s gaze tore from Raphael to meet his eyes, and as if they were of one mind, the rest of the vampires did the same. Simon kept staring at Camille, willing himself not to stare back at the other vampires. Her lips began to move, but Simon couldn’t bear to hear the words coming from them.   
________________________________________________________________________________________________

Camille moved them to the Upper West Side that very night. As soon as the sun went down, she ushered them out of the building. Its cratered ceiling and walls kept them trapped until sundown. Simon had leapt down from his perch, keeping to the patches of sunlight. Vampires stared at him, eyes wide and flashing. Their fangs clicked together, a cicada-like hum as they tried to speak. 

Camille stepped in immediately, striding to the now dead Raphael. She stared down impassively for a moment. Then looked to the rest of the nest. She said nothing but the remaining vampires straightened. At attention and trembling. Camille’s face then broke into a smile. 

They left that night and now Simon stared at the vampires bustling about in the lavish penthouse. The entire building was theirs. Someone had procured drinks, already filling crystal cut glasses with warm blood. Music played softly in the background, but Simon didn’t care about any of that. He had to find Camille. Simon moved past a pair of vampires-a redhead and a brunette-setting a table. They did a double take as Simon walked past but he ignored them. He walked into the main room on the floor. A grand staircase did a slow spiral up to a balcony that led down to two hallways and an outside veranda behind it. 

“Ah, there is the man of the hour.”

Simon looked up to see Camille. She stood at the head of the stairs, a floor length shimmering dress. It was white, but darkening to blue by the time it reached her calves and at her feet it was a smoke-y midnight color. It was low cut and sleeve-less, but she wore white gloves that covered her elbows. Her hair was swept up in a braid and pined up. A small circlet of pearls went around her head. A thick collar of moonstone cut into thick vertical columns adorned her neck. Her lips glossed pink. Simon shuddered. 

“Come up. Some things have been laid out for you. Second door on the right. Everything should be ready by the time you’ve finished.”

Simon flinched but walked up the stairs. Camille padded down the bannister, fingers lingering as she sauntered downwards. Their shoulders brushed and Simon hurried to his destination. He opened the door and started. Sitting on the bed was Lenore. She was wearing a green gossamer dress. It ended mid-thigh in strips, made to look like a shredded leaf. Simon briefly wondered if it was borrowed from some faeries. Elaborate straps wound around the shoulders and neck. Gold bracelets jangled on her arms. When she looked up he saw the butterfly pins in her hair. They looked like they were following a trail. Lenore’s eyes widened at the sight of Simon and something in his chest tightened. 

“Don’t worry-I won’t harm you.”

“No I-” Lenore shook her head. “I wasn’t worried about that.”

“You should be.”

Lenore gave him a long look, eyes blinking as if honey had been poured into them. She motioned for him to sit down. She scooted to give him room and when he did then she spoke.

“I think I need to know more about what’s been happening.”

“Fair enough.”

Simon began with Clary. The Shadowhunters, Valentine and the war. The outcome and Camille and Raphael. Enough of a talk that he rasped by the end of it. Lenore nodded her head when he stopped.

“Yeah yeah. I’d say that’s a lot.” She nodded again. “I don’t blame you by the way. You were just trying to help.”

“Still am.”

“Well that’s got to count for something.”

“…Yeah. Yeah I hope so. Cuz’ that’s what I’ve got to do. I have to make this right. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I kept talking about how you could have a nice life here and-”

Lenore cut him off. “Look, don’t worry about me. I’ll manage. Thanks though. Really. After Montana…” She took a breath. “There are people…like your Shadowhunters…but…”

“…Hunters?”

Lenore’s eyes widened. “Yeah-have you met one?”

“A couple actually. Its mostly in families right? The ones who hung around the most were a couple of brothers named the Win-”

“-Chesters?”

“Yeah! Small world huh?”'

Lenore smiled. “I’ll say. You know, they actually helped me once. Helped my whole nest actually. Actually…that’s-” she laughed. “A pair of hunters saved me and mine from another hunter. We managed to get out of that with only a few of our people dead. After that, we had to leave and our nest scattered. Most feared being hunted down and we were, so when I suggested this city, no one wanted to go, so I struck out on my own.”

Simon barked out a laugh. “Well-that’s yeah. Yeah yeah that’ll do it. Sorry for the bad first impression. I wouldn’t blame you if you left right now. In fact, you might wanna do that.”

Lenore shrugged. “I dunno, not a whole lot of vampires talk the way you do.” 

Simon huffed out a laugh. “What?”

“I’m serious. So many vampires are trying to scrape a living-on human or otherwise if they have moral compunctions. I want to be in a like minded nest again. I want to be safe.”

Simon felt an unexpected rush of emotion. Eyes blurred and it took him a moment to speak. “Yeah I want that too.” He cleared his throat. “Can you, uh, hang on for a second? I’m gonna just…” He motioned to the bathroom door.

“Yeah.” She nodded.

Simon grabbed the spare set of clothes off the chair and headed into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him. He pulled his phone out his pocket, amazed that it managed to survive his…bout with Raphael. He dialed Jo’s number and began to change clothes. She answered within a couple of rings.

“Hello, Simon?”

“Hey. Yeah, hey it’s me.”

“Hey. What’s up?”

“That’s the sixty four dollar question.” He laughed. “I uh…”

“Simon? Simon what’s wrong?”

He found himself explaining what had happened after Jo had left up to the moments of the night. Simon turned on the sink and ducked his down to drink from the faucet. He listened to Jo’s surprise.

“Holy shit?! That’s intense, I’m Jesus-that’s-holy shit are you ok? What were you thinking? She hasn’t threatened you? What are you gonna do? How are you-”

“Woah, slow down.”

He grabbed a wash cloth and scrubbed the blood off his limbs. Simon soaped himself up. Rinsing himself off in the sink, he responded.

“First of all, yeah that was stupid-yeah she is threatening, that’s par the course. I was thinking that I was trying to do the right thing. Yeah yeah road to hell-I’m still thinking of a way to fix this.”

Simon found a bottle of aftershave and doused himself with it. Grabbing the dress shirt, he searched for his pants. 

“Ok, let me call some people and we’ll figure something out.”

“Yes-no-I mean wait a minute.”

Lenore wrapped at the door. And Simon hurried to put the finishing touches. 

“Hang on, let me call you back when I’ve got an idea. Its starting to come together.”

“…Alright, yeah ok…just be careful ok.”

“Yeah I’m definitely trying to do that. Talk to you later.”

“Ok, talk to you later.” 

He hung up and opened the door. Lenore stared back at him. Her tights were butterflies fluttering up her legs. Her mouth worked open and shut. Her hands shook. He nodded. They headed out and went to the balcony. Camille was waiting for them, arms extended. Lenore scooted out of the way, sending Simon a look as she descended the stairs. He swallowed heavily and turned back to Camille. He walked to spend next to her. As soon as he walked by her side, she began to speak.

“My clan-you are all my clan. I have returned to you. Now we can all be prosperous again. Clave and Covenant are no more, I can assure you. Simon Lewis the Daylighter is proof of that.” She gestured to Simon. “Raphael Santiago spurned his company at his own peril. We should keep to our own people and now we have the opportunities to do so.”

She smiled down at them all.

“And now we have the means to change.” 

Simon stared and slowly the room raised their glasses. The light caught the red liquid. Raised pools in the light. The glimmer caught Camille’s eyes and Simon had a flash of foresight. He shuddered. Camille raised her glass.

“So here’s to you. The future is for you. Now in the modern parlance-eat drink and be merry!”

This brought up a cheer. Camille gave a mischievous smile to Simon. She gestured for him to follow. Her hips swayed to opened the glass doors. Cold air ruffled his hair and he breathed deep. The stars overhead pulsed gently above him. Camille turned to him. 

“You’ve been of great service.”

Her tone was soft, kind even but Simon gritted his teeth, suddenly shaking.

“No I was your attack dog. You sicc’d me on him. I killed someone-to save you.”

“For which I am eternally grateful.”

“You should be.”

“…Excuse me?”

Simon straightened up, back aching as he did so. 

“Now, I don’t care what you tell the others. You told me that we in this together. Which is what is going to happen. We are gonna run this nest-clan together.”

Simon kept his lips closed, but his teeth were pressing hard against them. He willed her to remember what happened hours before. Camille shuddered, and for a second Simon thought her face would contort. Blue eyes that shuddered and creaked with malice until her shoulders forced themselves to relax and her face calmed down. Her smile was forced, but Simon took it as a victory.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I tend to do that.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Simon raced down the streets, the lamp posts illuminating the street signs. The address was still written down somewhere, the scrawl burned in his memory. He passed the bodega with the payphone and knew he was close. When he got there, he could see the building was still the same. He pounded on the door and brought his fist up short when it opened.

“Fuck you want at this hour?”

“Luis.”

“You look…I was going to say shitty, but that would be an understatement.”

“…Can I come in?”

“No.”

Luis’s good eye fixed on him narrowed and Simon shivered. The past week must have been written on his face. Luis’s expression didn’t change. He kept his body still over the entryway and his arms crossed. Simon had no doubt that there was iron in the man’s pockets. 

“So…head of the vampire clan of Manhattan now, huh?”

“Sort of…if you want to call it that.”

“What do you want to call it? Cuz’ I call it being the big bad monster king.”

“Well I call it being played.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

Luis tilted his head, hands slowly coming to his sides. After a moment, a smirk came to his face.

“…I have an idea.”  
_____________________________________________________

TBC…


	13. Road of farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own any of the characters from their respective series. I’ll put them back on the shelf when I’m done.  
> Warnings: Possible triggers for loss/bereavement.  
> Word Count: 8,978  
> Thanks so much to all those who reviewed, kudos, and follow. I'm glad you like this. It's all for you guys. :)   
> Enjoy!

Lights blinded her and she threw up her hands. Clary screamed as the car screeched, smoke from the burning rubber surrounding her. Her knees scrapped against asphalt, warm blood pooling beneath her. She burned. The grill of the car hissed in her ear, the metal grazing her cheek. Her limbs shook, shivering in the heat of the car. Car doors slammed. Shouts came to her ears. 

“Oh my God, are you ok?”

“I didn’t see you-just came out of nowhere!”

“Ah, I think you’re hurt. Are you hurt?”

“Stay there, we’ll take you to a hospital.”

Clary shook her head, pulling herself up. Her palms flared in protest as she scraped herself off of the pavement and bolted. Out of the corner of her eye, lay Maellartach. She picked it up and gripped it tight. She ignored their shouts, stumbling off and into the trees. Inside the semi-dense foliage of trees, her vision adjusted and calmed. Her face felt swollen, as if burned. Clary put her hands to her face, prodding her cheeks and eyes. She suppressed a cry as their puffiness was tender against her fingers. Clary smacked into a tree. Its leaves shuddered and fluttered to the ground. For a moment, the red color looked like blood. Clary flinched. 

She ran all the way through to the parking lot of the hospital. Her legs turned to rubber. Clary took a side entrance, door slamming behind her and the wind pushed her forward. Her boots squeaked on the tiles, mud tracking all over the sterile tiles. She tripped taking the stairs. Her mother’s room was map in her mind. She raced to it. Sweat made her hand slippery and it took a few tries to get its door open. 

“Mom-”

Empty. The world shorted out for a moment. Her bed was empty. Blankets pressed and folded neatly as if she had never been there at all. Her breath came out in short pants. A rattling wheeze from her chest. Clary’s hands shook and she shot her hands out to the bed’s railing. Maellartach clattered onto the linoleum with an impressive ringing that shattered her ears. Her arms buckled and she hung, slightly suspended as her torso sagged as her arms strained and her knees bent. Sweat poured into her eyes and she blinked heavily, but it just made her eyes sting even more. Clary retched.

She took a deep breath through her nose and her body subsided. Shakily, she stood up and searched the room. Her mother never had any personal effects during her stay, so it didn’t surprise her to see it bare now. She checked for a clipboard at the foot of the bed and found none. She stayed a few minutes longing, finding nothing. Clary grabbed the sword and left and shut the door behind her. 

At the front desk there was only one girl. It must have been a slow day; nurses walked as opposed to the brisk strides that were par for the course. Clary slammed into the desk, making the girl jump. Her eyes widened behind her glasses as she took in Clary’s appearance. Her mouth opened and closed.

“C-can I help you?”

“Jocelyn Fray. Where is she?”

“E-excuse me?”

“Jocelyn Fray. Where. Is. She?”

“I…I sorry-excuse me.”

“Look, she’s a patient here. She’s supposed to be here-”

She adjusted her glasses. “Just give me a moment please.”

She tapped her fingers and Clary saw them unadorned, save for a single promise ring. Her heart clenched. The girl looked fairly frazzled herself, as if she had been on shift for far too long. Dark circles emphasized by the lens from her glasses. Her chapped lips mumbled as she read the information on her computer screen. She gave Clary a small look. Clary couldn’t decipher it with the strange calm that was humming through her. Clary didn’t care. The girl glanced back to her, lowering her eyelids. Clary shuddered. 

“I-I’m sorry, but there…there seems to be some kind of mistake-”

“What?”

“There-doesn’t…it’s not…”

“Check again.”

“I-but-I-”

“Check. Again.”

She sighed, torn between irritation and pity. She swallowed convulsively. She signaled for a nurse. One in crisp blue scrubs turned the corner. A circular mirror planted above revealed the overhead profile of the nurse. She looked up and Clary got a clear look at her face. The woman’s eyes flashed black.

“Run!”

Ithuriel’s voice shrieked inside of her mind. She didn’t need to be told twice. Clary bolted. Ignoring the sudden shouts behind her as she blasted past the other nurses and raced out of the front doors. They made an echoing clang as if to decry her presence. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Luke’s house was quiet. She banged on the door. His truck was in the driveway and she struggled to remember if it was there before she left for Idris. She shouted Luke’s name in time with her pounding fists. There was no answer. Clary upended a flower pot to get at the spare key beneath it. It wasn’t there and it took her a moment to realize that the locks were broken. The door gave no resistance. 

Familiar furniture greeted her instead of Luke. Unwashed dishes were still in the sink, plates stacked in order. The crud from old food collected along the rims of the dishes and floated in the small pool of water beneath them. The table hadn’t been cleared either. Books were still haphazardly strewn all about the kitchen and living room; there were more upstairs. She picked up a dog eared Isaac Asimov paperback, fingering the bent edges before setting it back down. 

A fine layer of dust coated all the wood and Clary ran her fingers through it. Dust stuck to her fingers and she wiped the filmy-ness on the ripped dress. She went up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her guest-bedroom was the same way as she left it as she didn’t go in it. She went to Luke’s room, knocking on the door out of habit. His bed was made, pillows lumpy. There was a glass of water and glasses on the nightstand. Rummaging through his closet, she found boxes and hangers. Her mother’s paintings lay in a haphazard stack. She frowned. Clary took out the paintings. Most of them were landscapes. When she first saw these, they were just fantasy places but now she knew they were places in Idris. Clary stared at them until her eyes burned and she carefully put them back one by one. She could find nothing else. Clary went out of the house and shut the door behind her.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

She went to the pack’s police station. There was no one except for some bugs. The refrigerator hummed and when she looked inside, old take out containers held food that was starting to go bad. Clary shut the door and called out. She yelled, her voice echoing down the halls back to her. She didn’t stay for long. 

Clary ran all the way to Simon’s house. She stumbled the entire way. When she got there, she reeled in shock. All over the house were Hebraic scripts and symbols. Clary could only recognize a few from what Simon had shown her. Scrawled with a jagged hand on the doorknob was the seal of Solomon. Something cold and heavy vibrated in Clary’s chest and it took her a few minutes to stop from staring. The car was in the driveway. The old four door Volkswagen was spray-painted just like the house and was parked at such an extreme angle that it nearly rested on the steps of the house. Clary peered inside. The doors weren’t even locked and the keys were resting on the passenger seat. 

Clary ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the sensation. She turned back to the house and the feeling in her chest increased. She willed herself to walk up to the door. She gave a few rapid raps but there was no reply. She knocked again.

“Simon? Are you home? The car’s in the driveway…”

A crash from the hallway made her jump. Clary knocked again. Louder this time. A muffled thump. Someone running into the stand next to the coat rack. 

“Simon? Simon-”

“Go away!”

“…Mrs. Lewis?”

“Get back demon!”

“What? Mrs. Lewis, what are-”

“Go back where you came from!”

“Mrs. Lewis, it’s me, it’s Clary Fray. I’m looking for Simon.”

“He’s in Hell.”

“…What?”

There was a slam from behind the door and Clary jumped. A metallic sliding sound as the bolt slid back. The door opened a fraction and Clary flinched back. Mrs. Lewis’s eyes were hollow and sunken from behind the lock chain. Her eyes darted, pupils dilated.

“He is in Hell.”

“What?”

“Simon is in hell and a demon has taken his place.”

“…Like he’s possessed?”

“I saw his teeth.”

“I-teeth?”

“Yes. Yes his teeth, he-” she choked. “Yes yes his teeth. Run, just leave. Yes, leave and don’t come back.”

She slammed the door shut.

“Mrs. Lewis-”

“Go away!”

Clary traced the seal of Solomon; the crudeness of the carving surprised her. It had to have been done with a simple kitchen knife. The bumpiness reminded her of wax and she had to pull herself away. Clary moved backwards, tripping over her ankles before whirling around and racing to the next place.   
__________________________________________________________________  
Magnus’s loft was empty, the Hunter’s Moon bar was closed, the hotel room that Sam and Dean stayed at had been rented out, and the Dumort deserted. Even Pandemonium was empty. Clary spent the rest of the day hopping around the subway from place to place. She couldn’t find anyone. It was as if everyone had disappeared off the face of the earth. She got to the Institute late in the night.   
Clary walked to it, the place looking new to her eyes. As with Simon’s house, the Institute had various sigils scrawled all over the walls. Like the doorknobs of Simon’s house, Clary ran her hands all over the Institute’s doors. She yanked on the handle. It took her a moment to remember that she needed to announce herself, but when she opened her mouth, the door gave and opened. 

“What the-”

Clary tugged hard, hands shaking and she squeezed inside. The door slammed shut, propelling her forward. Clary went back up to the lift. She hung onto the gate’s grille, the metal piercing her fingers. Rivets of blood congealed into the screws and she sagged. Her boots kicked out at the grate. When the lift opened, she had to stumble her way out. 

Clary called out a litany of names and with each mantra, it became louder until she shrieked. She scraped her throat with the grievous sound. Clary cut off her cries, choking. She hacked up a globful of blood. Clary raced through the rooms, visions of what could have been replacing the empty halls. She kept seeing herself beside the Lightwoods and Jace. Getting her first marks, training, wearing the black gear. She would have known her grandmother, known all the shops in Alicante, and never got to fight side by side with her mother. They’d never put on gear or talk about boys. They’d never do anything together again. Her lips, already slick with blood opened so she could retch. Clary didn’t care if she was even in the middle of the living room, trying to puke on the Oriental rug. 

Her palms slapped the table; it was cold against her sweaty hands. Silverware jiggled. Clary picked up a knife, seeing herself in its shine. She threw it as hard as she could into a glass cabinet. It shattered and on each shard was a piece of her life. She climbed onto the table, limbs heavy. Dishes collapsed past her feet, slicing into her calves. Fragments of them bounced back up to the balls of her feet. Clary leaned back, abs and legs aching. A candlestick touched her spine, warm wax clinging to the back of her neck. She shivered. Clary felt pliant and stiff at the same time as she tried to move. Her hands grasped at the cabinets, examining the china.

Feeling listless and strange, like whatever tenuous connections she had to human beings was lost. There was no one to shake her awake as screams wracked her body. Almost like a conscious seizure with no way to make it stop. Too much for too long. These rooms were too full of what could have been. She couldn’t walk in them anymore, so she curled up into a ball and screamed.

Ithuriel felt small, cramped inside of her, probably overwhelmed. She would be too, but the wildness in her soul wouldn’t let her be. Almost against her will, she went about, smashing things. Watching as they tumbled to pieces and ignored how it hurt her hands and feet. 

All she could see was what happened-and what might have happened. Like magic, she could see the life she was supposed to have. A life of scars and killing-and Jace. Jace Jace Jace. The world splintered apart. A voice in the back of her mind, similar to Jace’s-as if he had come back from the dead. She turned to see his face, feel his touch. Lingering and hungry, only to have the vision fade. 

An anguish that was frightening in its intensity. Pain and fear were something that needed to be wrenched out of you. Like vomit and leaves your soul spilled in chunks on the ground. It doesn’t matter whose it is anymore-just a wild crazy grief. Dive headfirst into it-like sex, like making love. She carried on like this for three days before a buzzing overtook her. Clary recognized Ithuriel’s presence. A lullaby humming in her ears, someone stroking her hair. She trembled. Exhausted, she fell asleep and began to dream again for what felt like the first time in a century. 

She was in a garden, flowers blooming all around. Dragonflies hummed in the air, in time with the shimmering heat. They alighted on her fingers. Her flesh was vivid-bright and heavy and alive. Ivy climbed along columns of weathered stone. A small pool of water gurgled as lily pads floated upon it. Someone sat on rock beside it. At first, she thought she was staring at herself, but then they turned. Red hair burned in the light. It was brighter than hers or her mother’s. 

‘…Ithuriel?’

She just smiled and it filled her up. Clary watched her get up. She was beautiful, like the edges of sunlight. Her build was lithe, with the beginnings of muscles, and big eyes that carried hope like water in her hands. Smooth limbs and hands that never knew blood. Her hair fell to her waist. Walking over, she stroked Clary’s cheek. There was something playful in her smile-

Clary woke up. Something soft hummed in her chest. A nice muteness that kept her awake. She sat up, her clothes stiff on her skin. Clary unlaced and kicked off her boots. She walked to the library. Her ripped stockings padded over the familiar mosaic of the Angel rising out of the lake. A lake that probably no longer existed. She lifted a book off the shelf at random. ‘Practical practices for the discerning Nephilim.’ She leafed through it, stopping at a random place and began to read.

‘When all Nephilim are born, they are taken to the Silent Brothers to have a ritual preformed. This process is a complicated one and not fully understood by individuals not within the sect. As such it is necessary to protect the child from evil. Without it, he or she would be susceptible to all manner of evil, particularly possession-’ 

Clary flipped to another page.

‘-Age of twelve is the best time for a young Nephilim to receive their first marks, preferably the Voyance Rune. Rings with the Nephilim’s family crest are then given to the individual. It is also an ideal age to choose a parabatai-’

Clary skimmed over to a later section in the book, when a paragraph caught her eye.

‘Gold is the preferred color for weddings. The groom and his fellows should aspire to wear the proper formal dress. No rings are exchanged between parties, but rather runes, one on the arm and the other upon the heart. Passages from Songs of Solomon are the most popular.’

Clary shut the book and replaced it with a heavy book from a higher part of the shelf. She nearly dropped it when it came down unsupported from the shelf. The thick no nonsense title popped out to greet her eyes. ‘Nephilim and Law’ she opened it, the table of contents was long and she started with an earlier section. 

‘In Victorian times those mundanes who had the Sight were employed as servants by Shadowhunters and usually had families of their own and were kept within the generations of said family.’ 

Clary moved down to a couple of pages later. 

‘-When a shadowhunter leaves the Clave, he or she automatically renounces all ties that come with the Clave, there are three rules. 1) Said individual is not permitted to return or seek help in any manner. 2) Said individual cannot speak with, or communicate to or with their family in any way or vice versa. 3) If said individual has children, the Clave can lay claim on them and take custody as seen fit. As such-’

Clary switched to a different chapter. 

‘An individual shadowhunter who lives outside of Idris can choose to earn money within the mundane society. However a portion of it must be tithed to the Clave. It is much like the ‘spoils’. Spoils is a term describing the property of any given offending downworlder whose property has been seized by an arresting shadowhunter. This practice can lead to the rare occurrences of homicide of downworlders for their property. It is one of the reasons that the Accords is so controversial-’

Clary frowned, skipping down several pages. She read on until she had skimmed through most of the book before putting it back on the shelf. She stayed within her little section. At some point she moved on to another room. The kitchen still seemed lived in. With a stocked fridge and shined cutlery, she handled the knives. The training area was as spacious as she remembered, weapons rack out of the way, and the mats stacked against the wall. She didn’t stay for long, heading up to a different floor. A room that was tucked away beside the library. 

Items were held in glass cases. Their shine made her think of rare gems in high class jewelry stores. Clary only stared for a moment or two at each case. Ceremonial knives-they certainly looked fancy enough-lay on velvet. Calices, short spears, and old crests blazed up at her. What really caught her eyes were a pair of slim gold rings. They had no real adornment, just a simple band of gold. Clary stared at them some more, fingering the chain that held the Morgenstern ring. 

A few days later, Ithuriel prodded her awake. Clary sat up, nearly hitting her head on the kitchen table. She rubbed her eyes.

“What is it?”

She didn’t get a spoken reply, but rather an image. Maellartach flashed in her eyelids, its outstretched wings burning. Like a wavering radio signal, the image became less distinct as if being pulled away by something. The image was replaced by a sense of urgency. Clary tugged herself out from under the table, tumbling on the linoleum. Clary found the sword lying in the foyer. When she held it in her hands, Ithuriel shuddered, making Clary’s shoulders ache. Walking back into the kitchen, her feet had a slight echo and she shivered at the sound. She held the sword and slid back down onto the ground.

“All right all right.”

She projected a sense of calm for Ithuriel. A responding wave of peace came back to her. Clary leaned back. The table’s leg was uncomfortable on her back, but she didn’t shift her weight at all, instead talking aloud to Ithuriel.

“Ok, I’m assuming a few things for now. One, your batteries are running pretty low if you’re having trouble talking. Two, we need to find out what’s going on with Maellartach because…because Idris is gone, but…worst case scenario, the devil is still out there-and we’re got the only weapon that can actually hurt him. So…it’s time to leave.” 

A wave of rightness overcame her and she nodded without realizing it. She sat up, shakily at first, gripping the table behind her with both hands. She kept nodding as she did so. The world came into sharper focus, like she had to adjust the picture for clarity. Colors returned to their normal brightness. The edges of things became sharper. Clary rubbed the crust out of her eyes. She took another look around the room before she looked down at herself. 

Clary was filthy. The Idrisian dress ripped all over and what fabric was still there was covered in gritty sand, water, blood, mud, and other guck she really didn’t want to know. The fabric was brittle and in some places disintegrated at her touch. Her stockings ripped, one had broken free from its garter and sagged down to the knee. At the feet, the bottoms were absolutely covered in grime; she had even tracked some of it onto the floor. The flower petal from her bodice was gone, a hole where it used to be winked up at her. Her chest ached from having a poorly laced bodice. It struggled to adjust to her breathing, as only part of it was tight. The loose ribbon cords sagged as the rest of it tried to pick up the slack.

The green cloak that Luke gave her was caked in mud, blood splattering the broach, rusting along the clasp. The hood hanging by a thread, ready to fall. Its green dulled to threadbare fuzz. She lifted one of the arms and gave a sniff. She pulled back with a wince. Examining some strands of hair, its grease rubbed off on her fingers. Clary shuddered. Her hair curled into ropes in some places. Bits of twig and dirt woven in. She stripped right then and there, walking naked through the halls to the bathroom. She found one of the guest bathrooms for visiting shadowhunters. Clary then moved from bathroom to bathroom, gathering shampoo and body wash from each of them. She had found the towels, but didn’t want to touch them, when her hands left a filmy imprint on everything she touched. 

It took her about three washes to get rid of the filth. She stepped out of the tub, to rinse out the tub before stepping back in. The water weighted down her hair, yanking her neck with its excess. She tried to untangle it with her fingers, bits of debris falling out. Growling, she grabbed a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet. She crouched down, taking hair by the fistful and cutting. Red locks fell to the floor, tub’s edge, and some floated on the water. She cut until there was only air that she sliced through. Tossing the scissors to the floor, she dunked her head under the faucet. Clary scrubbed her body raw, until she was shiny and pink. 

She cleaned Maellartach as well, grit and grime slid off the surface of the blade as she worked to give it a shine. She nicked her fingers, tiny droplets of blood splashed into the tub. She wiped the sword down and set it down. 

Clary drew up to her knees, hugging her frame until the sense of urgency came upon her again and she turned off the water, leaving it in the tub as she stood out. Dripping wet, she left the bathroom and grabbed a couple of towels. Drying herself off, she hunted for clothes. Clary debated with herself when she found Isabelle’s room. The only other women clothes were Maryse’s and they didn’t fit her in the slightest. She couldn’t bear taking from Alec or Jace. Clary rifled through Isabelle’s drawers. The less girly the clothes the better. She found a purple flannel shirt with blue accents, dark skinny jeans and black boots. She found a form fitting leather jacket. Clary snagged a couple of daggers, placing them in a duffle bag. She stuffed clothes, some weapons, and a picture of Jace, Alec, and Isabelle. A calendar on the wall showed the date. Two weeks had passed. She had already spent enough time here as it was. Clary flipped the calendar to its appropriate page.

Clary grabbed the bag, stuffing Maellartach inside it and headed back down to the lift, and then walking down the church isle, pews identical as she headed down. Out on the street, she turned to give one last look at the Institute. Clary sighed, sharp breeze attacking her ears and cheeks. No cars hung around the street. An image of an Impala flashed in her mind, Simon’s voice filling her head. 

‘Yeah, follow that black 67’ Impala.’ 

Clary stiffened, frowning. She answered, not caring if anyone should happen to cross paths while she spoke out loud. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it isn’t here. So you’re saying-” she sucked in a breath. “Ok. Ok, but this isn’t gonna be easy.”

Clary took the subway and headed down to Luke’s. It was the same as when she last saw it, but she went inside again to grab the keys to the truck. She raced up the stairs, grabbed a new sketch pad. Clary looked for some of her own clothes and cards. The emergency wallet was in Luke’s room. It only took her a few moments and she raced back outside to the truck. 

She hoped inside, letting out a shaky breath. Clary went through the steps in her head. First check the mirrors, and then fasten the seat belt. Look in the glove compartment for necessary things. Put the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life and Clary eased her way out of the driveway. 

“Where to?”  
________________________________________________________________________________________

The upstate countryside was beautiful as the leaves were still in mid fall, burning red and orange. She took the route that they had often taken to get to Luke’s farm. She frowned and ignored the turn-off that lead that way. She swung down to a scenic lane, the foliage bright against her windshield. Clary turned on the radio and Janis Ian’s ‘At 17’ crooned in a husky voice. She found herself humming in time to it, chest wistful as the lyrics settled into her. 

‘Annie’s Song’ sung its ballad straight into Clary’s senses as she swung down and took a wrong turn. The cars were going by too fast, and they honked in her wake. Clary jumped. She tried to change lanes, but kept getting cut off. Clary shouted when a small sports car jumped ahead of her. She finally managed to pull over. She stared up at the big green signs overhead. Her hazard lights flashed as she debated with herself. Clary shook her hands and wiping the sweat on her jeans. She flicked her turn signal on and pressed the pedal too hard.

Cars blared their horns as she sped into the farthest lane, almost diagonal in the way she didn’t stop. She took the I95, trying to stay on it and sometimes getting pushed off onto a smaller highway road. She was still going in the right direction, as the urgent tugs were positive in tone. As long as she followed the Long Island Sound and kept it within her sights she knew she was fine.   
________________________________________________________________________________

It was deep at night when she past the sign for West Warwick, Connecticut. Cars had just started to die down, the roads now dominated by trucks. Clary kept a distance with herself and those semi’s. The moon was high in the sky when Clearance Clearwater Revival’s ‘Bad Moon Rising’ filtered through her speakers and she shivered. It was like the music turned to smoke, trapped inside her windows. A heady dangerous song that should be played with extreme caution, but the voice was so good that she couldn’t resist. 

She finally stopped for gas at a small little run down station. The lights dim at the pumps and she fingered the handle of her knife as she filled up the tank. Clary paid as quickly as she could and got onto a dusty back road. Eric Clapton’s ‘Layla’ kept her company as her passenger seat was illuminated by streetlamps. Clary didn’t stop at a hotel; she just kept driving right on through. 

It was about two days later and the sun was high when she got to the outskirts of Boston. Traffic clogged the roads and Clary rubbed her eyes. Supertramp’s ‘Give a little bit’ was the only thing keeping her awake. When she finally got a free lane, she took it, not caring where it led to. She finally found an overpass; she spiraled down it and took a turn-off. Over-passes reigned supreme here, they made complex designs to her eyes. Clary got herself beneath them, turning past a chain link fence and going off the road. Graffiti was over every inch of workable surface, bright, intricate designs. Despite the loud traffic coming from all sides, she couldn’t see a single person. She parked behind a column that served as a base for one of the overpasses. Clary shut off the engine, hid her money, and kept her knife close. She was asleep within minutes.  
_______________________________________________  
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was enough for the urgent tug to wake her up. Clary turned her radio on only after she pulled back onto the road. Traffic assaulted her on all sides as Harry Chapin’s ‘Cat’s Cradle’ came on her speakers. Getting back to the freeway took a couple of hours with the clogged roads and unfamiliar streets. Again, she took the nearest exit and only later realized that she hadn’t taken I95. Clary slapped her steering wheel, but the signs for it were the ones she couldn’t find. 

Ithuriel was still pointing her in the right direction, as the Massachusetts Bay peeked out to her vantage point. A small sign winked past her, informing her that she was on road 1A. She snorted. 

“Thanks, that’s really helpful.”

Crosby Stills and Nash sung back at her as ‘Teach your children’ filled her car. She found herself nodding along to it, humming as she turned to keep on the same road. Leaves began to light up as if they were on fire when the sun finally began to set. Clary noticed an exit sign, her number appearing and she fiddled with her break so she could get off. The road twisted and she found herself on a single lane back road. Dense woods came up thick on either side of her and she squinted as the sun’s rays flashed in her eyes. There was nothing for miles and her tank was starting to run low. Clary caught herself mumbling, ‘please, please’ as she looked for a sign.

The road took a sharp left and Clary turned the steering wheel hard. A church came into view. A white cross towering at the top of the highest point. A bell rang faintly from somewhere. Clary peered up at it from her windshield. 

“Huh.”

She pulled into its parking lot. There were a couple of cars still there. A rusty Honda and a newer looking Lexus, purple paint peeling in some places. Clary parked next to it and stepped outside. The cooling air crisp against her skin after days in a car. The entire church was painted white, she could see no sign, so she must have parked in the back, but there were a small set of stairs beside a wheelchair ramp and she took them. The paint cracked and peeled beneath her boots. Clary knocked. There was no answer. She pressed her face against the window, knocking again. She jiggled the handle, blinking fast when the door opened with ease. Sticking her head in, she called out.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

No answer. 

“Is anyone here?” Clary turned her head back and forth. From her vantage point she couldn’t see very well. “I-I’m coming in.”

Clary walked inside, shutting the door behind her. She padded down the carpeted wood, muffled creaks coming out as her boots tread beneath it. The hallway was dim, the light from a faraway window streamed down a corner. She passed a closed door and followed the light. Around the corner, it led her to the main room. Row after row of pews were illuminated by the self-same soft and streaming light. Glass stained windows on either side of the pews. She stared up at them. She couldn’t place all of the characters, but she could recognize that one of them was at least Michael. Sword in hand as he pinned a demonic looking man beneath his heel. Even in simple stained glass he was beautiful. Although now her perspective on angels had changed; she tried to picture a stained glass version of Cas with his trench coat and giggled. 

There was a huff of sound and Clary turned back to see that only one person was sitting in the pews. She hadn’t looked up at Clary, so she wasn’t sure if she had disturbed the woman. Clary kept quiet, thinking back on the Institute’s church, but somehow she enjoyed this one better. It felt more lived in. The wood from the pews worn and smooth, the books in the benches dog-eared, with creased corners despite the embossed letters winking up at her. 

“Excuse me, but mass has already ended-”

Clary yelped, whirling around to see a middle aged man dressed in black. A small bar of white at his neck helped her realize who this was. He held up his hands with a sheepish smile. The beginnings of crow’s feet gave his face a friendly air. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there.” He said.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were, uh, closed. I just-I’m…lost.”

He regarded her with sad brown eyes. His hands went down to his sides, almost as if he debated bringing them to her shoulders. He smiled with a soft ease. For a moment, Clary wondered just how many people came to see him; she felt calmer already.

“Oh my child, we all are.”

Clary inhaled sharply, flushing as she fiddled with her hands. 

“A-ah no, I mean-I-I can’t find the interstate.”

His face fell and Clary continued on, voice high and babbling.

“I-I’m from out of town and I don’t have a map, and and-I took a wrong turn and the high-high way and got t-turned around. I-I’m really sorry. I’m- I mean, no offense, but yeah…if you could just…”

A bark of laughter from behind her made Clary jump. She turned to see the woman sitting in the pew had thrown back her head and laughed with gusto. Clary flushed harder. She waved a ringed hand.

“Sorry sorry. Father Rogers here is just jumps the gun sometimes.”

Father Rogers rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling at the assessment.

“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate.” He turned to Clary. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. The roads around here are pretty confusing. I get turned around myself. You said you don’t have a map?”

“Yeah. I thought I did, but I rushed out of the house pretty fast.”

Father Rogers tapped his chin. “Hmm I think I’ve got one in the desk somewhere…I know it’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

“I’ll do you one better,” the woman said. “I can take you to where it is. I go by there on my way here.” 

The woman unwound herself from the bench and walked over. She had thick, black hair. Her sunglasses were dark, almost plastic-y. Her leather jacket was also darker than hers, white lines running down the sleeves. Her shift beneath it was surprisingly lacy-a creamy pastel color. A leather corded belt held a silver belt buckle, decorated with a wolf howling at a crescent moon. Deep blue denim decorated with studs in a swirling pattern. They hugged her frame, curves generous and at ease within her clothes. Work boots clunked as she made her way to stand next to the father. Clary noticed she wore a pentagram at her throat.

“R-really?” at the woman’s easy nod, Clary smiled. “Thanks so much, I really haven’t got a clue.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Father Rogers said.

The woman extended her hand and Clary took it. She had a vigorous grip. Her bracelets were thick, studded and black while her other wrist had slim gold bands with roses patterned on them. 

“I’m Peggy Black and this peculiar father is Jim Rogers.”

“Clary Fray. Nice to meet you.”

Peggy smiled and Clary felt an unusual prickling ease at the older woman’s frankness. She reminded Clary of one of Jocelyn’s art friends. 

“Clary. That’s an unusual name. Is it short for something?”

“Clarissa.”

“Nice.”

Clary smiled. Peggy dropped her hand. The sun continued to set, now lower in the sky, as it illuminated only Michael’s feet in his window. Peggy started, giving a little laugh.

“Oh, right. Guess I better take you now. Father’s got a night mass on Friday, so he’s probably eager to start prepping.” 

Father Rogers shrugged. “My work’s never done. Especially around this time of year.” He winked. 

Peggy threw back and laughed, slapping her knee. Clary tilted her head, but received no explanation. Peggy’s laughter petered out.

“He’s such a trip. Well, we better get a move on before it gets too dark, am I right?” she winked back at him. To Clary she said, “C’om on, I’m parked out back.”  
________________________________________________________________

Following Peggy was easier than she thought it would be. The purple Lexus had matching purple lights running underneath the car and it worked like a flashlight for Clary. After stopping for gas-Clary couldn’t believe that she missed the station-they went down the 1A road, turning off to go down another one lane road that led to a town. Clary frowned. 

The streets still bustled, but shops were closing up. Peggy led Clary through what she assumed was the main part of town. They passed several kitschy looking shops, modeled after colonial times some of them. Clary‘s frown deepened; she saw no signs for the highway and it seemed like Peggy was leading her deeper into town. However, she felt nothing from Ithuriel’s end, so she kept following Peggy. They turned a corner, parking next to a shop. It’s wooden sign unrolled like a scroll, reading: ‘Which Witches’ Corner’. 

Peggy parked and Clary took the spot right behind her. Peggy got out and went to her. Clary unbuckled her seat belt, but made no move to get out. When Peggy was close enough to see that, she held up her hands.

“Don’t worry, just thought you’d like a place to crash. Seeing as you look about ready to fall over.” 

Clary’s stomach growled and Peggy laughed. 

“That too. So come inside. Tell you what, if it’s not a good vibe for you, I’ll give you a map and let you be on your way.”

“…Alright.”

Clary slid out of the truck, hauling her duffle bag over her shoulder. Peggy smiled. 

“Atta girl.”

Peggy unlocked the shop and gestured for Clary to go first. Peggy closed the door and switched on the lights. A shop that looked bigger that it appeared on the outside. Shelves of books covered one side. Candles were everywhere, all in different colors. She could smell the incense burning from somewhere. Jars and vials competed for space. Posters of musicians adorned the walls beside the occasional mask. A large reprint of a Georgia O’Keefe stood behind the register. Clary was led to a set of stairs to what turned out to be the apartment above the shop. It was small and warm. A couch with a futon beneath it rested on the wall. A flat screen on its opposing side, DVD’s and CD’s in a messy stack beside it. Books piled in little clusters were everywhere. A beaded curtain divided the living room from the kitchen. The kitchen was cozy, with painted wallpaper. Sketchy figures danced in long dresses against scenes that may have been recognizable only to Peggy. 

A small circular wooden table was in the center as Peggy bustled around, pulling out dishes from the shelves and setting them down. 

“Need any help?”

“Sure, if you want.”

Warm movement made Clary look down to see a cat rubbing at her ankles. A three legged calico mewed back at her and Clary crooned back to it. It followed her into the kitchen as Peggy began pulling out food.

“Steak ok?”

“Sure.”

When it was already and they sat down to eat, Clary felt more at ease.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Sure I did. You looked pretty helpless.”

Clary laughed. “I did?”

“Yeah.” Peggy said. “You said you hadn’t got a clue, right?”

Her eyes tilted up. Clary held back her start of surprise. She hadn’t noticed it until now, but Peggy’s eyes were orange. She didn’t know how, but the light made them shine as if backlit. Peggy caught her staring. 

“They freak you out?”

“Not really.” Clary paused. “Kinda par the course for me right now.”

“Yeah, I can believe that.”

Clary pursed her lips. “Huh? Sorry…but huh?”

Peggy smiled. “It’s all good, I get that a lot.” She cut a piece of her steak. “It’s just that you’ve still got a ways to go. That’s why I’m letting you crash here and not under an overpass.”

Clary started and then nodded. “Again thanks. I’ve never done that before.”

Peggy refilled her glass. “Well I have. Not as fun after the first couple of times.”

“The first couple?”

She laughed. “Well, I say that but…”  
____________________________________________________________________________

Sunlight filtered through a gauzy curtain to her eyelids as Clary woke up. The adjusted herself on the pullout couch and found the cat curled up next to her. Clary smiled, scratching the cat’s ears. It purred, stretching and Clary arched her back, eyes drawn to the wall. A dream catcher had been placed at the head of the couch. She grinned at it. 

Peggy was up before her, directing her to the shower as she stood by the stove. When Clary got out, plates were already covered with food and Peggy was ripping out pages from an atlas and taping them together. Her tongue poked out of the side of her lips as she tried to line the pages up just right. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Clary said, as she took a seat. 

Peggy shrugged. “Sure I did. I don’t really use this thing anyway.” She grabbed a sharpie and began to mark the map. “Here, you can take the 1A to Ipswich, follow that road to Newburyport and swing down I95 and just keep to that road. Though, you can go a different way if you want.” She made a few more lines. “There you are.”

Clary grabbed a refill of coffee. She looked down at the map. “Oh, so we’re in Salem.”

Peggy burst out laughing, nearly sliding out of her chair. Her cat pawed at her knee and Peggy waved her away. Clary grinned, rubbing the back of her neck. She got up, clearing away their plates. When she sat back down, she played with the Morgenstern ring. Peggy eyed her playing with it, but said nothing. Her gaze appeared far away. Without warning she grabbed Clary’s hand and inspected it with thin fingers. She said nothing and Clary knew better than to interrupt. A steadily building quiet made her sit up straighter. Peggy’s nails tapped along the lines in Clary’s palms. Peggy’s lips were moving, either trembling or speaking to herself, Clary had no idea. Her orange eyes were focused on what she was staring at. Her hands moved all the way down Clary’s wrists as her hands were being turned every which way. After a moment, Peggy set her hands down and got up from the table, face flashing an expression of grimness.

“I have something for that.”

Clary didn’t have to move, Peggy came back rather quickly. She sat back down and set something down on the table. Clary leaned down to inspect it. A chunk of tiger’s eye was set in the center of an hourglass. Instead of a bottle of sand, this chunk of stone rested against the thick gold. The top and bottom bases of the hourglass kept the tiger’s eye firmly in place. Clary squinted to see that the gold had wrapped itself at the two points in the stone, cinching it and keeping it still. The crossing lings of the main body of the hourglass didn’t obstruct the stone from sight, wrapping around it with a subtle ease. The tiger’s eye itself was bright and smooth, with no jagged edges or blemish. It had an unusual egg shape to it and was of decent mid-size. At the top of the hourglass a loop for a chain rested. Instead a brown cord was used. A small clasp was at the end of it. Clary looked to Peggy before touching it. It was leather, soft and sturdy.

Clary held it up to the light. For some reason, she wanted to cry. Its shine was pleasant on her eyes. Peggy watched her, lips twitching. 

“You don’t have to necessarily wear it, but you must keep it close to your person at all times. Just hang onto it until its true owner comes to pick it up.” 

“Thank you.” Clary breathed. 

Peggy gave a jerky nod.  
____________________________________________________________________

After being been seen off with a thermos of coffee and her map, Clary set off. The truck felt different now as the lyrics unobtrusively permeated the air.

‘Where there is now one, there will be two…’

She hummed along with it, turning onto the I95, tires swinging as she fought to get into the next lane.

‘Learn to pretend there is more than love that matters.’

The I95 faded away and Clary turned her head from side to side, but no sign for it could be seen. It took her a moment to realize that she must have taken a wrong turn before but she wasn’t sure now. She pulled over and closed her eyes. Ithuriel gave her another tug, strong enough that she could have sworn she could have seen her shirt move. Eyes still shut; she pointed her fingers, the tugs most insistent when she pointed in one direction. She opened her eyes to see her finger pointed east. Clary nodded.

“Right.”

She swung back onto the road, taking an exit to another room. The sun began to set as she changed the station. Voices came through it, music distorted as it tried to come through the static. She frowned. Signs came to her now as shapes as the sun swung lower in the sky. Her headlights flashed and she caught a glimpse of the words ‘private road’. Clary headed down it, unable to find a place to turn. Forest surrounded her, tiny wire fences barely contained the wild that they tried to hold back. The one lane road twisted, and Clary’s radio shorted into static. 

A fork in the road and the tugging inside her got her to turn left. A little dip in the fences meant they worked around a giant tree they couldn’t put behind the wire. She parked next to it, turning off the engines and lights. With no real way to see, her eyes took a moment to adjust. Clary rolled down the windows, letting in the crisp air and hearing the dying insects cry out. 

She moved into the backseat, keeping her knife in her hands just in case. Clary relaxed her shoulders, boots hitting against the car doors. Clary curled herself up, letting her breathing slow to listen to the tree’s leaves having a slow whirl across her tires. She gave a gusty sigh as she closed her eyes and kept them closed till the morning. 

Even with sunlight being filtered through the trees, her eyelids still burned and Clary rubbed them open. Uncurling herself and climbing back to the front seat, she fumbled for the keys. She rubbed the crust out of her eyes and checked the map. Peggy’s scribbles didn’t extend that far. Clary grabbed the thermos grateful despite the coldness of the coffee inside it. She was on the road within moments. 

That very same road led her past the woods, their foliage bright against a calm blue sky. Clouds streaked across a shade of blue Clary was sure she hadn’t seen before. Her stomach growled and she wasn’t too sure how much time had passed. Clary kept down the same road, trying not get to too distracted by the scenery. A quick yank and she turned on a gravel road. The vibrations from the gravel rattled her steering wheel and she kept a firm grip on it. 

For about an hour on the road, she could see no signs, until another fifteen minutes in to see an old-time wooden sign and she slowed down to get a better look. It read, ‘Baxter State Park’ in elegant green script. Clary hummed along to herself and found a smoother one lane road a few miles up.   
_______________________________________________________________________________

She finally stopped at a place called Clayton Lake. The tugs kept telling her to go forward, but she pulled over and took out the map. Her fingers tapped the paper as she murmured to herself. It was written in small letters, only white and a few blue squiggles. Her index finger pulled itself, almost like an Ouija board. It trembled as it kept its course and pushed past thick black lines that serves as boundaries. 

“Canada?” she exhaled. “How am I supposed to get in there?”

Clary removed her hand from the map and rummaged through the glove compartment, her pockets, and her duffle bag. Her shoulders slumped; she had no passport. Clary started to drive again, looking for a road that could take her into Canada without a toll booth or border patrol, but she shook her head. 

“Obviously that isn’t going to work…I mean I could do this all day and never get anywhere.” She chewed her lip. “Maybe….maybe…” She took a shaky breath. “Ok…just gotta find a way to break into another country and not get arrested. No pressure.”

Clary retraced her steps, but didn’t quite turn back; instead she drove off the road. Her tires bounced on the ground, the grass brown and covered with frost in some patches. She found a place to park, beneath a cluster of trees and shrubs. It was enough to hide the truck. She set an alarm for her phone and slept. 

A loud buzzing woke her up from dreams she couldn’t remember and she sat up. Clary didn’t turn her lights or radio on, instead, driving completely in the dark. She rolled down her windows, hearing only wind and cars going by in the distance. She followed their lights, trying to keep the sound of her engine quiet by staying slow. She wasn’t sure how long it took her, but she had edged enough to the border that she could see the lights of it in the distance, bright and cold. Parking in the dark, she slid out of the cab and skirted to the shadows as she tried to get closer. The station reminded her of gas pumps as people waited in line for an officer to check them through. Their uniforms were crisp even from her distance.

Clary watched for a few more minutes, watching the way the lights played. They left nothing unilluminated. A fence on both sides further complicated the issue. Clary ducked when it looked like an officer headed her way. Clary scuttled away. She walked all the way back to the car. Her hands shook as she tried to open the door. Small puffs of air came out of her mouth as she huffed and clambered back in the car. Finding a flashlight under the seat, she clicked it on, trying to find anything that could help her. 

“Stele…stele stele, where are you?” 

Clary upended the cab for it, eventually finding it in her jacket pocket. Her shoulders slumped and she felt her eyelids flutter as her body ached. She frowned at the accumulation of aches and pains. She started to drift off, hand holding her stele began to loosen. Her head tilted, neck cracking as it tried to bend against the headrest. Another sharp jerk from Ithuriel and she flinched awake. The sense of urgency was now coupled with confusion and alarm. Something was shifting, moving inside-Clary stiffened, now very awake. 

“The …ok it’s moving?!”

A sense of rightness came with a quick yank. 

“Yeah moving. Ok, moving, ok.” 

Clary turned the wheel to hard, nearly sliding in a circle. She struggled to reverse and pulled back away from the trees. Turning on her brights she found the road, and sped down it. She tapped the steering wheel. 

“C’om on c’om on c’om on.”

Like magic-shapes darted out in front of her, lights throwing up contrast in the dark. She slammed on the brakes. Tire screeched, rubber reeking as the car halted. Two men stopped in front of her, one holding his hands up, crouching as the other stood stock still. Clary leaned over the steering wheel, heart caught in her throat.

“…What?”  
________________________________________________________________________

TBC…


	14. Cat scratch fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own.   
> Warnings: Canon levels of violence and language. If germs bother you, this might be a bit squicky.   
> Word count: 6,678  
> AN: Enjoy!

Screeching tires made Dean throw up his hands, knees bent for bolting. He sensed more than saw Cas stay stock still. Headlights washed over them and Dean guarded his eyes, hand to his face. His lips pulled over his teeth. A blue pick-up truck skidded to a halt, rubber stench surrounding him and the truck’s grill inches from his knees. He couldn’t see the driver, but didn’t have to as the passenger door opened. Clary stepped out and went to them. She eyed them with her mouth hanging open. 

“Son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Could say the same to you. Get in.”

Dean nodded, yanking Cas’s arm. Dean took the passenger seat while Cas got in the backseat. They barely had enough time to slam the doors before Clary pressed on the gas. Cas fell back onto the seat with a soft thump. Dean stared at Clary, eyes not as wide as before, but the same open mouthed expression. 

“Seriously, what the hell are you doing here?”

“…And again, the same to you. What, were you in Canada?”

Dean did a double take, but the irritation on his face was surprisingly short lived. He snorted.

“Oh Dudley Douchebag tried to keep us in a lock-up. Guy had a paddy wagon and everything.” He laughed, continuing. “No, uh, when Cas zapped us to the middle of nowhere…How’d-”

“I get out? My stele. Do you…know, or-or see anyone else get out?” 

Dean shook his head. Clary continued to speak.

“No. No, I didn’t either. When I got back to New York City, I tired, but I couldn’t find anybody.”

“How did you find us by the way?”

Clary pointed to the dufflebag behind her. Cas reached for it, unzipping it. Maellartach peeked out from piles of clothes, blade gleaming up at them. Cas’s fingers hovered over the visible pieces. 

“Where did you get this?” Cas asked.

Clary cleared her throat, beginning her explanation at when she first arrived in Idris, winding up to finding the Wayland Manor up until leaving the city of New York. She finished up with her plans to sneak into the Canadian border. She wet her lips. Dean whistled. 

“So a vessel huh? And you said yes?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Yeah and it’s actually pretty good.”

Dean’s whole body tensed. His eyes narrowed. “Are you still you? That can’t be possible.”

“Actually it can.” Cas said. “It’s unlikely but from what Clary has said, it would make sense. This…Ithuriel has been trapped, tethered, and grace drained. For more than a decade correct? That could sufficiently weaken an angel. To the point that it would be more of a symbiotic bond.”

Clary nodded. Dean, who had spared Cas a glance, now turned back into his seat. His smile spread into a slow grimace, transforming into a tight snarl, lips barely contained his teeth. Green eyes dulled, color replaced by blankness as he stared straight ahead. Cas shifted in his seat, hands moving from dufflebag to Dean’s shoulder, but before they could reach their destination, Dean’s expression cleared. 

“Well ain’t you a lucky duck.”

Clary’s laugh crashed out of her and smashed itself onto the dashboard.

“Yeah.”   
___________________________________________________________

Sunlight burned its way up for the early rise, making Dean squint. Dean’s tongue ran over his teeth, a film of spit-grime. The crud in his eyes was too much to blink away. His neck was stiff and he grunted. Dean squirmed in his seat, stretching as the wheel jolted. Clary yelped, hands sliding all over the steering wheel. Dean grabbed the wheel, yanking hard to the right. Clary raised her palms up, letting Dean steer.

“Think the tire’s blown out. Turn on the emergency lights.”

Clary fumbled with the turn signal and tapped on the breaks. They pulled onto the next lane.

“Got a spare?” Dean asked.

“No, I don’t think so. No.”

“Shit ok, let’s try to get off on the next exit.” 

They managed to get off the highway and into town at a snails’ pace. As they limped down the road, Dean kept watch on the streets. He frowned. Very little cars on the road and stores had closed signs featuring prominently in their windows. A buzzing settled in Dean’s shoulders, making them tense and knot. A ball began to form in his stomach, a kind of metallic lining that made his back straighten. Brain taunt and focused. His sight felt sharper to him somehow and Cas and Clary’s exhales of breath seemed louder to him as well. He jumped when Clary moved in his peripheral vision. 

Clary pointed out a service station to their left. Gas pumps were next a sign that promised free air, tune-up offers, and a mechanic in the back. They pulled in and piled out of the truck. Dean stood, leaning against the truck as he cracked his neck. Clary slowly eased out as Cas fumbled with the door handle. He clambered out and stood next to Dean. As Clary began to fill up the tank, Cas nudged Dean.

“Do you…”

“You’re angel-sense tingling?”

Cas frowned. “Um…yeah. Something is definitely not right.”

“Preaching to the choir. We’re in, uh, Hastings right?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Then yeah, this part of town should be busy, middle of the week like this.” 

Dean heaved himself up from his leaning and turned, squinting at the auto-shop adjacent to the gas station. A man was coming out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. He appeared to be the only person working, the lights inside dim. Dean slapped Cas’s shoulder, making his way to the garage. Clary, who had just come out of the gas station, saw where Dean was headed and changed her route to match his. A newspaper was clutched in one hand. Dean raised his hand in greeting to the emerging mechanic.

A heavy-set man with a friendly air smiled at them, his five o’clock shadow obvious against a smooth complexion and dark eyes. He put the rag in his back pocket. He nodded at the two of them, but didn’t shake hands. 

“Hey what can I do for you?”

“We need a new tire.” Clary said. “I don’t know why, but it just blew out.”

Dean then let the conversation between Clary and the mechanic filter out of his mind, their words had a soft buzz as he peered about. Nope, there was no one else in the auto-shop. Dean frowned. He could see only a few parked cars in a lot from across the street. After seeing the clear streets, his attention was brought down the newspaper in Clary’s hands. The bold letters demanding his eye’s concentration.

‘SWINE FLU HITS HASTINGS

Hastings, MI. Over 200 cases of swing flu have been reported within the city of Hastings. The center for disease control or CDC has reported shocking results of an outbreak that hasn’t been heard of in nearly a decade. Residents are encouraged to-”

“-Can’t until tomorrow.”

Dean tuned back into the conversation, looking back up.

“Say what?”

The man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He colored a bit and repeated himself.

“I said I don’t have a tire in your size, but I ordered a shipment that’s due tomorrow that’ll have it. I could give you a simple patch up job for now, if you want.”

“That sounds fine.” She smiled. “Where’s a place to stay?”

The mechanic frowned. “Well the closest place that’s open is down the road. Should give you some fair prices too.”

Dean gave a little shrug and grunt that Clary caught and she nudged him. 

“Honestly kinda tired of just of powering through.”

“…Yeah ok.”

“Come back tomorrow round….ten. I’ll sort you out.”

Clary thanked him and the two walked back to the car.  
__________________________________________________________________________

They found the motel without a hitch, and again there was hardly any cars in the lot. A lone female clerk was in charge of the desk. She had not touched their hands, dropping the room keys in Dean’s open palm before putting a liberal amount of hand sanitizer on her hands. She had pointed in the direction of their room, doing the same thing with any other place that would have required directions.

It left the three of them in a two bedroom room with a cot. Clary was already lying on top of her bed, flipping through channels as Dean packed the fridge with snacks and drinks. Cas sat stiffly on the other bed, looking in between Dean and Clary. His hands sitting his lap, fingers curled loosely. 

Dean got up, beer in one hand and newspaper in the other. He sat down at the small table closest to the door and began to read. After a moment he made a cry of discovery. Cas and Clary turned to him.

“Apparently the first reported cases of swine flu were in the same nursing home on the same ward.”

Clary turned down the volume of the TV. “But…is that really that surprising?”

Dean shrugged, as if to concede the point, but his expression was too set to agree with the sentiment. He scanned the paper. 

“Says here that it spread like wildfire-yeah I know-but there were no known cases and then suddenly, boom. CDC says their ‘baffled’ by the speed. Almost all the reported cases are severe too, like there’s no middle ground level of sick, just really really sick.” 

Cas made a humming noise in his throat, eyes downward. Dean lowered the newspaper, staring at Cas. Dean scanned the angel’s face. Cas was too silent, but Dean found himself leaning over the table, chair creaking as he did so. Cas squinted for a moment, then nodded. 

“There could be something at play. It is…worth checking out.”

“Right.” Dean said. 

Dean sat back for a moment, hands wrapping around his beer. His heels rocked back as he returned to leaning forward. He took a pull of his beer and then set it down on the table.

“Ok, here’s a game plan.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________

The Sunny Side Acres nursing home was a somewhat old building that did not show age well. An off-white paint was already peeling to reveal a grayer shade beneath it and all the stairs and ramps had spots of rust along their handles. The inside was much the same, with generic egg colored walls that had a slight yellow tinge to them. Florescent lights had a soft hum to them, their light staying true and wasn’t abrasive in the daylight. The three of them made their way from a side entrance and began to walk up a flight of stairs. 

“Ok, so I’m someone’s granddaughter if anyone asks?” Clary said.

“That’s the plan.” Dean said.

Clary giggled. “I’m assuming that makes one of you my dad? Or both of you?”

Dean scoffed, sparing her a quick glare. Cas stared at them as if seeing an oddly interesting wall had come up. 

“Admit it, you walked into that one.” Clary said.

Dean broke into a small smile. He finally nodded and opened the door for her as they got onto the second floor. Its halls were decorated with colorful streamers and construction paper. Near the end of the hall a cork board with pictures of staff and patients dominated the wall. Some faces grinned; others didn’t so much as twitch the lips. Some of the doors on the floor were shut, but a few were open. Dean found the one closest to the door on the right to be open. 

Paper flowers surrounded a name plate that read ‘Helen Kraginski’ in a simple black font. He wrapped his knuckles on the door as he gazed into the room to spy an old woman hunched over in a chair, absorbed in a book. At his rap, she looked up. She sniffed, eyes a little glassy but inquisitive at the sight of three strangers. Her face was red and puffy. 

“Yes, can I help you?” she croaked.

“Ah.” Dean cleared his throat. “Scuse’ us, this is gonna sound weird, but has anything strange or bad happened around here or maybe in town?” 

“That does sound weird.” She set down her book. She blew her nose before continuing. “Nothing really comes to mind, just people getting sicker than usual. Reminds me of the old days when…”

She went on for a little bit as Clary and Cas exchanged a look as Dean rolled his eyes. He cleared his throat as Clary gave a stare to Dean while Cas pointed his gaze to the woman with a determined expression. 

“Uh…look Lad-er Mrs. Kraginski we’ve got to go-” Dean said.

Her face fell and Clary held up her hands. 

“Not that it’s not interesting, cause’ it is, but we’ve got-got-”she said.

“An emergency.” Dean said.

“We’re sorry for wasting your time Mrs. Kraginski.” Cas said. 

Mrs. Kraginski waved them away, calling goodbyes. They stayed long enough to find no suspicious activity of people, even sneaking into the security booth, but found nothing to keep them there.  
___________________________________________________________________________

Castiel rubbed his eyes, crust coming off his fingers. Sitting up, palms flat against the rumpled bedspread. As braced as he was, a wave of dizziness passed over him. Body buzzed in a hot-chill flash. He frowned. Was the strange pressure in his head due to falling asleep? In fact, his entire body felt that way. Mouth full of sour spit, tongue heavy inside the mouth. It was hard to swallow, unexpected pain when he did so. He sniffed, unable to smell anything. There was a more curious sensation. A sort of tingling in the nose that that only increase with every shaky inhale. A quick tremor went through the head and down to the chest. His lips pulled back, quivering of their own accord. It was entirely too distracting. He was barely able to pay attention to Dean and Clary. He wasn’t even sure what they were conversing about.

Castiel breathed in too sharply and suddenly his face scrunched, eyes squeezing tight as he expelled a burst of wet air with a mangled noise. Much better. Except for the fact that he had an even harder time breathing and that Dean had stopped speaking in favor of staring at him.

“Dude.” He said.

“What?” Clary frowned. “He just-”

“Angels don’t sneeze.” Dean said.

Oh. Castiel sniffed. Something thick and damp filled his nose rather than air. Oh, mucus. Right. Another tickling sensation, this time reaching the back of his throat. He sneezed again, more forceful this time. A cool wetness misted on his hands and ran down to his nose and lips. Dean made a noise of disgust and Castiel tilted his head.

“I knew it.”

“I’ll get some Kleenex.” 

Dean and Clary said in unison. Clary came back with tissue, setting the box next to him. Dean sat at his right and Clary at his left. Castiel pulled out a handful, mopping up his hands. Dean indicated that he should get a fresh one for his nose. He pressed it the mucus, letting the tissue absorb it.

“Blow.” Dean said, pulling out a tissue and wrapping his nose. “Like this.”

Castiel mimed the gesture and the pressure in his head lessened. He balled the now thick tissue up. As soon as he could breathe freely he sneezed again, making Dean and Clary jump, as the two were sitting close to him.

“Dude.” Dean repeated.

“Sorry.” He croaked.

Clary glared at Dean. She turned back to Castiel. “Just cover your mouth and nose when you do that ok?” 

Castiel nodded. Dean edged closer, eyes holding some emotion that Castiel was too tired to sort out. He sighed, lowering his gaze, face oddly hot. He frowned at the thick pulsing vein at the column of Dean’s neck. Normally his skin was a light tan…

“I knew something weird was going on. Seriously, why else would an angel catch cold?”

“I don’t-”

“Like what?”

Dean frowned. He scratched at his neck. Flakes of skin snowed down his jacket, revealing an angry red patch where the previous skin had been. Dean caught Castiel staring, fingers continuing to dart around his neck. His ears were red too.

“What?”

“Your neck.”

Dean rubbed his neck, fingers scraping at skin. When he got a decent hold, he tore a long thin strip of skin from his neck. Green eyes snapped open as he dangled the filmy layer to his face. He dropped it to the floor and bolted into the bathroom. 

Clary watched with an off green complexion. She looked down at the floor to the piece of skin, swallowing convulsively. She opened her mouth, but whatever was about to come out of it was drowned by Dean’s sudden blue streak.

“-ucker, son of a bitch!” Dean smacked the sink. “The horseman, this has got their bullshit written all over.” It’s Pestilence, man, its gotta be.”  
Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel in one hand, matting his face with it. He leaned against the doorframe.

“Damn it, I got rashes everywhere-” He cut himself off. 

Clary shifted in her seat. Frowning with lips puckered, she gave a shaky breath just as a stench grew more pervading as time had passed. There was no accompanied noise but it was thick enough in smell to taste. Clary gave a slight groan as Dean made a face, flushing as she did so.

Clary nodded. “Yeah I-” she went pale. “I’m gonna be sick-”

She stood and raced to the bathroom. She pushed past Dean, who held his hands up as Clary slammed the door. Castiel and Dean winced at the sounds of violent retching reverberating through the door. Castiel sniffed against the stuffiness that coming back and he huffed, throat protesting at the vocal choice. 

“Yes.” He rasped. “Pestilence.”

“Yeah, but how’d we catch-the nursing home.”

Castiel nodded. “An ideal place for diseases to-to-” he cleared his throat, raw scraping sensation as he began to cough. “You get the idea.”

Dean scratched his neck, fingers jumping on the skin. Castiel grimaced as more flakes of skin dusted Dean’s jacket. Once he realized what he was doing, he shook himself.

“Pestilence must have amplified whatever infections-” 

“That we probably only got from Pestilence.” Dean growled, only to cough himself. “Doesn’t matter. We gotta kill ourselves a horseman.”

“How’d you do it last time?”

“Cut off his finger with the ring. He’s got one of those right? That wasn’t a one-time thing?”

“No he does. All horseman have them.”

The toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened. Clary emerged wan and ashen-faced. She sagged against the door.

“So…what’s happening?”

“Gotta cut off lil ol’ Pestilence’s pinky finger.”

“Mmmmm ok.”

Clary straightened herself in a shaky effort, exhaling slowly. Castiel leaned forward, about to get up when a wave of dizziness brought him up short. Almost against himself, he lay all the way back down. Clary got back to her bed and mirrored Castiel position. Dean rubbed his arms, looking between Clary and Castiel and wet his lips. 

“So what’s the game plan?” Clary asked.

Dean stared at them a moment longer. Castiel sat up, ignoring the way his arms and shoulders shook at the shift in weight. He gritted his teeth and spots in his vision gave him pause. Dean took a breath.

“So what, we go back to that old folks home and find him?” Clary asked.

Dean shrugged. “Might not even be there. Hmmm…wait. The newspaper. Doesn’t Hastings have a local CDC?”

“Gimme the paper.” Clary said.

Dean tossed the paper and it landed on her chin, earning a chuckle out of her. She flipped the paper over, pages rustling as she scanned.

“Mmm yeah. Right yeah, it does, but it doesn’t give an address.”

Dean grinned. “Not a problem.”

After a few minutes, Dean was jotting down an address. Clary gave another shaky exhale and Castiel concentrated to turn to her.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry.”

Clary shrugged. “No offense, but you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“I’ll live.”

“Ok, so I got an address and a plan.” Dean said.

“Let’s hear it.” Clary said.

“We go into the CDC, get into the security and see if we can’t find what’s what. Pestilence has got to have a tell. Something.”

“Wait,” Clary held up her hand. “Then going to the nursing home tipped him off. That’s why we’re sick.”

“She’s right. He’ll know we’re coming.” Castiel said.

“Yeah and if he’s anything like his compadre, he’ll be cocky. So here’s the plan.”  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean tugged at the collar of his monkey suit, tie cutting into his adam’s apple. He scowled. It only deepened when he spared a glance at Cas. The falling angel was pale save for a blotchy flush riding high on his face. His eyes didn’t hold the usual sharpness he was used to. Cas was blinking slowly. The fuzziness of the hospital surgical masks that the front desk handed to them the moment they walked inside. The off-color blue-green didn’t match Cas. Dean shook off the observation as they moved down to the nurse’s station. Dean had to slow his pace a bit, but it was easy to catch a nurse’s eye. Dean flipped open a badge with a fluid flash as Cas fumbled with his own. At least he kept the ID right side up this time. The nurse after raking her eyes at the badges let her shoulders slump. She kept gloved hands at her sides. Deep circles under her eyes made Dean smile beneath the mask.

“Thank God you guys are here.”

“No thanks needed.”

“Believe me they are.” She gestured for them to follow her. “We are so swamped, so we could use the extra pair of hands. I assume you guys are having this problem in…?”

“Detroit.” Dean rasped. 

His chapped lips didn’t ease his esophagus. Jesus, his throat burned. Whenever he swallowed, the back of his teeth ached as they rubbed against the inside of his mouth. Dean was just glad he had his mask on. He could keep his jaw slack for a few minutes. Saliva pooled in his mouth and gave no relief as he began to hack. The nurse turned, making a soft croon. Her big brown eyes going as soft as her voice. Green scrubs a pleasant contrast to her dark skin. 

“Wow, guess we’re all in trouble. Even the CDC is getting sick too.”

“We all have our off days.” Dean croaked.

“I know sweetie. Just hang in there.”

She walked them down a hall to an office tucked away on the right. The nurse opened the door for them. 

“I’ll let our staff know you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. I don’t think I need to tell you two to take it easy.” 

She gave him a brief scowl, but knowing. Her black curls flounced as shut the door behind her. Dean to Cas.

“Dude you gotta stall. My voice is about shot.”

“Alright but hurry. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

“Gotcha. Clary’s at the side door.”

“Understood.”

Dean opened the door and slipped out.  
___________________________________________________________________________

The nurse strode down the hall, almost at the break room when she noticed that a room in the ICU that she could have sworn was unoccupied not just an hour ago. Now a man sat on the well-made bed. She peered into the unlit room, brushing locks of hair out of her face. 

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, a non-descript middle aged white man with glasses. He smiled. His teeth shined in the dark. She faltered a step before continuing. 

“Actually yes, I think you can.”

“Ok. Are you injured or looking for a doctor?” 

She moved to the man’s side after turning on the light switch. He appeared unharmed, in casual business attire without a rumple or stain. Her training kicked in, but before she could act on it, he grabbed her hand. A spasm of cold traveled up from her hand and then a sharp bark of laughter. She turned to see a blond nurse in pink scrubs.

“Jenna?”

Jenna’s eyes flashed a sudden pooling color of black. She gasped, yanking her arm but unable to move. Swallowing hard lumps in her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, red oozing welts ran up her arms. A sudden and great wrenching in her stomach made her double over, like a hand had reached inside and pulled. Blood spilled out between her thighs as she pitched forward and vomited in a spray.

The man let go of her arm and she collapsed to the sound of Jenna’s laughter. She thrashed for a few moments before going still. The man took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. He looked back up, sliding the sleek metal frames back on his face. Smiling up at the black eyed Jenna, he said:

“Please alert the staff. Our guests have arrived.”  
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Dean and Clary gaped at the monitors in the locked security room. Dean bunched his fist, lips pulled back. The nurse thrashed at the feet of the be-speckled man. Dean ripped the surgical mask off and threw it to the floor. 

“Holy shit.” Clary said.

“Come on.” Dean said. “He’s on the second floor.”

Clary stared down at the monitor. “Cas is headed our way, but demons are chasing him.”

Dean pulled out the demon killing knife and Clary her stele. They barreled out of the door. Demons raced to them with screams. 

“Run!” Dean rasped. 

One got too close, its fingers brushing the edges of his jacket. Dean swiped low with the knife and the ones who got too close had to back pedal. The thick tang of sulfur made her gag and she bent down. The demons surged forward again and Clary dropped down to her knees, making scribbling motions with her stele. A sigil burned where the rod touched the floor. The mark burned and cracks formed. Demons tried to get back. The ground shook for a second before the floor fell through in a perfect circle. Half the demons fell along with it. 

Dean loaded his gun just in time to shoot a demon that leapt over the gap in the floor. The demon ailed back, arms flailing as it fell down the hole. Clary was still bent over, hand shaking to hold her stele. Dean scooted over, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“You good?”

Clary retched, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. She pulled herself up with Dean’s help as she grabbed his arm. The demons hung back on their side. Dean laughed. One demon stretched out a hand. Dean and Clary were flung into a wall, pressed hard as if a giant kept them there. A chorus of demon’s laughter. Dean lifted his head, tendons in the neck raised. It was green against the rest of his skin. The demon pinning them, doubled over with laughter. 

Teeth gleaming and visible. It straightened up, laugh still warbling out, and mouth gaping. The expression froze as the demon’s black eyes went saucer wide, laughter cutting off with a shocked gurgle. It slumped sideways to reveal Cas standing behind it with a bloody angel blade. Dean and Clary, released from the hold, scrambled to their feet. Clary dived down for her stele and gripped it in her right hand. She handed Dean his gun from the ground. He gave her a bare nod, whirling to face Cas. 

“Get here.” His shout ending in a gasping coughing fit.

His face was suffused with red. Cas’s eyes narrowed, turning a one-eighty. The red from his blade bright against the silver edge. It flashed like scales of a fish as it darted and curved. The hand that gripped it was as sure as the arms that arched to and fro. Tan trench coat whipping in the opposite direction. Demons had to leap back to avoid the blade and those behind Cas were quick to try and grab at him, but he wheeled away. Their fingers only brushed at his coat, nails missing by inches.

Cas cleared his side enough to take a running leap. He cleared the hole, arms flailing for the brief moment that he was suspended in the air. He landed heavily, staggering with arms wide. Cas’s hands found Dean’s jacket until the angel could right himself. Dean jerked his head at the set of stairs. The trio opened the exit door to the left, the sharp blast of cold air and Cas sneezed. The dark gray of the walls and stairs dulled the sound inside. 

Dean jogged up a couple of steps and looked back. Cas was closer to him, swaying and panting. Clary leaning heavily onto the rails, taking slow and measured breaths. Dean cleared his throat and Clary looked up.

“Sorry…gimme a minute. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Dean held up a hand, slowly moving it up and down. He went to Cas, who hadn’t spoken. He put a hand on the angel’s shoulder and Cas leaned in, murmuring. Dean frowned, bringing his hand to the other man’s forehead. 

“Burning up.” He rasped.

“Mmmm’ fine.”

Cas disentangled himself from Dean. Clary took the stairs one step at a time, reaching them with a slight limp. Her head lolled a bit. She widened her eyes. 

“Ok.”

The three made it to the second floor. Before Dean could open it, the door was yanked open and a pair of blood spotted hands grabbed his jacket. His gun clattered down the stairs and out of sight. More nurses and doctors with black eyes surrounded them. Cas lunged, sluggishly, managing to scratch one demon. Its white lab coat tangled around its arms as it tried to pull back. 

It tumbled back into the group. Demons crowded, pushing Cas’s attacker back to him, sans coat as it kicked Cas. The angel’s blow missed and the demon pinned him down. Angel blade clattering to the floor into a corner. Clary stumbled to him and another demon tugged her into a hold. Clary groaned, sagging into the body of a nurse. The nurse squeezed tight and Clary gave a hiss of pain. 

“Enough.” The demon leered. 

Dean, who had narrowly avoided being body checked into a wall, froze into a crouch. Knife in hand, he slowly raised it up. He eyed the hall. A handful of demons, about ten. The doors were closed, but directions were plastered on the walls in small plaques. A rather larger one read, ‘Laboratory #1’ in white block letters.

At the end of the hall was a room with wide, visible glass walls. The inside filled with long desks and equipment that must have been heavy and expensive. Only a few items were recognizable to Dean. Microscopes and test tubes. What caught his attention was the man standing in the very center of the room. A middle aged man with glasses. His smile was a slow spread of the lips. He waved and the light caught a quick glimmer of motion. A ring was on his index finger. Dean pulled his gaze away and back to the demons. Dean gripped the knife handle tighter.

“How you wanna play this, meatsuit?” The demon holding Clary asked. “Hah, lemme guess, really hard and-painful.”

Clary paled, throat convulsing. The movement made the demon loosen its grip and try to manhandle the girl. In that moment Clary did a clumsy pirouette, doubling over with an open mouth to vomit all over the demon holding her. Its eyes widened to comical proportions as it tried to stumble away from her. It was too slow to escape Clary’s second heave and shrieked as bits of chunk hit cheeks and hair.   
Its companions jeered as it tripped backwards. The crowd’s formation wavered. Dean grinned and slid the knife to Cas, who caught it. He brought it up to meet the sternum of the demon before it had a chance to react. Cas rolled away from the body and tossing the knife back to Dean as he stood.

Dean pointed to the lab room and Cas shouted out. Clary dodged outstretched hands and kicks. The three stumbled away, demons screamed behind them. The halls were large enough that demons in twos and threes jogged abreast of them. Dean tossed the knife to Cas, who slashed at the neck at of a demon closing in. He threw it to Clary when one was about to overtake her. She lobbed it back to Dean. They rounded out at the corner, close enough to see the gleam of Pestilence’s glasses. Only one demon remained. 

Clary was slammed into a wall, bright spots splashed in her vision as her tailbone smacked hard into the corner, ass slamming hard enough to bounce. Sudden warmth spread across the seat of her pants and down her legs. She groaned as she crumpled into a heap on the floor. Clary wriggled back up, stele slippery in guck. She waved it, but it was kicked out of her hands. 

“No more special snowflake bullshit.”

The demon above her laughed. It brought down one puke splattered shoe, but before it could smash in her face, Dean threw the knife. Aim went true in the middle of the shoulder blades. The demon froze up as it lit up from the inside before careening into a wall and sliding down onto the grimy floor. 

Pestilence didn’t move. Dean stared at the window; there was nothing to break the glass with and the door was bolted, a metal piece that required a key card to open. Dean spit at the glass, a sticky, lumpy yellow smacked the clear pane. Clary pointed her stele, hand shaking. Cas spoke, voiced stuffed up almost beyond recognition.

“Come out and face us horseman.”

Pestilence’s shoulders shook, flashing his teeth. He inclined his head with his palms open and wide at his sides. Tapping a microscope on his way out, his grin morphed into a leer. He walked out of sight. The door beeped, lights on the automated bolt flashed green. Pestilence emerged, shutting the door behind him. Dean winced. 

“Ah our valiant heroes, here to save the day.”

Clary gasped, free hand trying to shield herself. Cas wheezed, in the grips of a fit as mucus poured from his nose. Dean shook, aching. The world spun and splotches of black fielding his vision. A sound came out of him, a deep moaning rattle that burned his insides and blood welted his lips. Tiles rose to meet him. His elbows braced him, shocks buzzing at the sudden move. He looked up to see Clary and Cas flank Pestilence. The thing was laughing. 

Laughing as Clary and Cas tried to avoid his blows. His fists swung with ease and power. He aimed a kick at Clary’s knees just as Cas leapt up, blade high above his head. Pestilence aimed sharp, sending Clary tumbling back. She clutched her knee. Pestilence spun around, catching Cas in the chest. Angel blade spinning high in the air and landing past Dean’s head. He gritted his teeth and Clary retched as she tried to put weight on her knee. 

Cas’s gasp turned into a scream. The spots in Dean’s vision got brighter. Standing up, he grabbed Ruby’s knife and moved. Pestilence’s fingers pressed against Cas’s chest and the angel heaved out bright red blood. He choked, spasming against the horseman’s hand. Cas’s scuffed shoes dangled above the linoleum. He wheezed, eyes bulging. Bile clung to his mouth. Cas sagged against the hand. Pestilence tutted. 

“Oh my, I see the tuberculosis has flared up. Must be a nice contrast to that Spanish influenza. Your fever’s running nice and hot huh? Poor little angel.”

Pestilence flung Cas right at the exact moment that the angel landed next to his blade and tossed it to Clary and Dean charged the horseman. He wrapped his puss ridden arms around the creature. Dean’s skin sloughed off onto Pestilence’s blue-green dress shirt, staining it a murky brown. Dean yelled as pain flared in his joints and groin. 

“How’s that leprosy treating you? Or the syphilis is that bothering you? Did you ever get that strep throat checked out?”

Ruby’s knife skittered to the ground. Clary clambered up, snatching the knife by the handle. She rushed up, shrieking as she brought the knife to meet Pestilence’s chest. He laughed and the vibration traveled up the knife to Clary’s hand. She gasped as blood ran down her eyes and mucus from her nose. Slick bile mingled with sweat as something hard and hot was lumping on her skin. Dean pushed down Pestilence’s arm. His ring gleamed like a festering bump on an otherwise immaculate hand. Clary screamed, ripping the noise out of her the same way she did with the knife, slicing it down the digits. The horseman howled as his fingers came tumbling down. 

Dean pulled away, teeth bared as he tried not to slump to the ground. Pestilence grabbed his bloodied hand and cradled it to his chest. His smile curdled into a knash of teeth that resembled granite blocks that had been haphazardly filed down. Wide eyes.

“You’re too late.” He laughed. “Croatoan is already on its way. It’s very potent. I hope you like it.”

Pestilence’s head bent down low, chin touching his chest as his eyes sunk deep into the sockets. The ears shriveled and lips pulled back to fuse above the gums. His glasses slid off the nose, lens cracking as they hit the ground. Hair thinned and disappeared. His hands and arms crossed over his chest as he slowly bent his knees and curled in on himself like a dead spider. Pestilence disappeared as if he never was; the only proof to the contrary was his ring lying in brackish goo. It hissed and sizzled until that too disappeared and left the ring clean and gleaming. Dean picked it up. He gasped, pain gone and passages clear. 

Clary sucked in a lungful of air and Cas sniffed repeatedly. 

“I can breathe.” He muttered.

Dean frowned, staring at the ring in now unblemished hands. His arms were free of marks as well. He forced a grin.

“How do I look?”

Cary laughed. She pocketed her stele and handed Dean back the knife. He wiped the blade on his jeans. Clary watched, her nose wrinkled up despite the smile. 

“Oh god, I wanna shower so bad.”

“Yeah ok, you get dibs. Now let’s get out of here.”

A crash came from the first level and a sudden barrage of angry shouts.

“I agree.” Cas said. “Adamantly.”  
____________________________________________________________________________

“Urghh, just wanna burn all our clothes.” Clary said.

She had already dressed, towel still in hand. Her hair still damp and spiking out every which way. 

“Nah, he’s done with us. Moved on to bigger and better things.”

“Like that Croatoan thing…?”

Clary handed Cas a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouth wash as Dean turned the ring over in his hand. Clary, who had been watching Cas open up the paste cap, turning back to Dean. 

“Yeah. Not too sure what his endgame is, but I know what Croatoan is supposed to be.” 

“Lemme guess a disease that I really wish I didn’t know about.”

“Pretty much.”

“So, I guess-Cas, put the paste on the brush then put it in your mouth-we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “Fair enough. Which is why we gotta get to Bobby’s. He’ll know what to do. ”

Clary’s voice went quiet. “You think the others will be there?”

Dean swallowed. “I hope so.”

Dean packed his duffle. The water in the bathroom sink stopped. Dean and Cas passed each other at the bathroom. 

“Any clean towels left?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, so how bout’ a couple of hours dirt nap before we hit the road?”

Cas and Clary nodded in assent and Dean shut the door.  
____________________________________________________________________________

TBC…


	15. Ronin like us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own.
> 
> Warnings: Some slash. Not really explicit. 
> 
> Word Count: 5,084
> 
> AN: Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!

Swimming in sunshine, reflecting in soft pools as he stared at the light below him. He tried to touch it, arm straining and this is what woke him up. Bright foliage. Sunlight streaming through trees. Soft summer green trees. Frowning Sam sat up, back scraping against bark. Rubbing his eyes, he pressed up against the tree. Looking around, he saw they were in the same place as before, Isabelle and Gabriel on either side of him. Both were still out. Isabelle was breathing in shallow pants. Sam checked her pulse, eyes widening at the stuttering right after a flare up of racing.

Sam turned to Gabriel, shaking him. The archangel's shoulders firm underneath his hands. Sam squeezed a bit, digging his nails into Gabriel's jacket. Gabriel stirred, eyelids fluttering until he squinted back at Sam, tilting his head as he did so. Sam released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Sam?" He slurred. "Where are we?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

Sam rubbed his eyes. The trees were thick and tall with lush leaves and gleaming bark. Bird song echoed and there was a strange undertone, too musical to be a bird. Pipes. Pipes were playing in the distance. Sam adjusted himself, sitting up straighter. They rested in a tiny patch of clearing within woods. About a couple hundred yards away appeared to be a path, almost like a trail head. They were alone and whatever songs he heard were faint enough that they were of no imminent notice. Sam glanced back at Isabelle. The blackness of her hair threw her paleness in sharp relief. She had deep bruises underneath her eyes and thin sheen of sweat on her skin.

"The country of eternal summer. The land of Faerie. That's where we are." Gabriel said.

Sam paused. "Wait, Faerieland? Again?"

"Again?" Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. "Haven't heard that adventure."

"I'll tell you over drinks sometime." Sam said, looking over at Isabelle. "Ok, you need to get to healing."

Gabriel shrugged. "The state I'm in, I'm liable to fry her brain."

"We gotta move her at least."

Gabriel used his hands brace against the bark, legs shaking as he tried to stand. He faltered and Sam reached his hands out, but Gabriel stood up on his own. He kept his palm on the tree. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He let out a breath. Gabriel drew his hands back and wobbled for a minute. Sam kept his eyes on the archangel as he bent down to Isabelle with deliberate slowness. Sam followed suit, grabbing Isabelle's shoulders with one hand and the other getting up from underneath her back to brace her. Gabriel tucked his elbows in around her knees and his other hand pressing her lower back. Isabelle's eyelids fluttered.

"On three." Sam said.

A quick count and they hefted her up. The moment her feet hovered above the grass, her eyes shot open and she screamed. Sam jumped and almost dropped Isabelle. He fumbled with her, arms shaking as she began to thrash.

"Hey hey hey, it's Sam."

Isabelle's eyes rolled up until only the whites were visible. She began to truly seize, limbs shaking and flailing as her throat made a strangled gurgling. Her screams spiraled up to the trees, birds taking to the air with frantic wing beats. Birds of all sizes and color flew up in frenzy. A peacock pattered toucan flashed by, feathers billowing as it hurried upwards. Plumage fluttered down around them as Isabelle continued to scream. A long winding cry as she didn't pause for air. Isabelle choked, flecks of foam at her lips.

"Isabelle!"

She continued to choke, cutting off into hacking coughs. Isabelle went limp in Sam's arms. He staggered at the suddenness of all her weight in his arms. Gabriel's huff as he too buckled, sounded very close to Sam's ears. Isabelle wheezed and then her breathing settled into a regular but more labored rhythm. Eyelids stayed cracked at half-mast, whites still gleaming back up. Sam and Gabriel set her back down against the tree. They disentangled themselves from her as her head lolled to the side.

"So what now?" Sam asked.

"Get the hell outta dodge." Gabriel said.

Sam frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes up. He sighed.

"There's no way we can do that with Isabelle being the way she is. How'd that happen by the way?"

"Twinkie binge?"

Sam scowled and Gabriel gave a little shrug. Sam leaned against the tree. Something dug into his pocket and he frowned, shifting around until he pulled whatever it was out from his jeans. It was his cellphone, cracked in half. He snorted and let it fall to the ground.

"What now?" he asked, more to himself than anything else.

"We gotta get outta here." Gabriel said.

"Again, how?" Sam said. "We can't move Isabelle and we sure as hell can't leave her here while we look for an exit. You can't zap us out of here right now. It's amazing you even got us here at all-"

"Tell me about it. We're lucky Luci dropped his guard long enough for me to zap us anywhere. Now we're stuck in probably one of the most dangerous of places-"

"Tell me about it." Sam groaned. "I just hope it isn't the same queen as before. Or are there more than one?"

"Oh, there's more than one." At Sam's groan he added, "Not that that helps any."

"Didn't think it would. Ok, you stay here, keep an eye on Isabelle while I find a way out."

"Wait, you're leaving me with her?"

Sam eyed him with a glare. "Yeah. You're an archangel. Tired or not, you'll be able to defend her."

"True, but you're susceptible to glamour. If you've been here before than you know that ain't pretty."

"I'll just have to chance it."

"I ain't as much of a gamblin' man as you think, Winchester."

Sam snorted. "Whatever. I'll be back as soon as I can."  
_____________________________________________________

Sam headed in the direction of the music. He had only Gabriel's blade, which the archangel had practically thrown at him. He kept it tight in his fist, its weight surprisingly pleasant and its handle warm. The path beneath his feet was hard packed but it twisted and curved. He ducked to avoid the branches that whipped out at his eyes.

Sam craned his head this way and that. He had to admit, the place was pretty. The sunlight a soft and hazy shimmer against deep greens and bright flowers. The path twisted again and Sam stumbled. Cries of revelers echoed and despite how close it sounded, he couldn't find anyone. He frowned. The path didn't seem to be leading anywhere and just as he was about to step off it, a woman covered in vines careened into him. Sam leapt back before she could use him steady herself. She blinked up at him in surprise. Yellow eyes peered up to his meet his own green. She smiled. Sam couldn't see lips from behind all of the ivy around her neck, but he was certain that she was.

"Are you lost?"

Sam found himself nodding against his will. He winced. She stepped forward, almost a pirouette and he stopped himself from moving back. The handle of the blade clenched tighter and he willed his hand to be steady. Vines rustled about her hair and a strange crooning sound emerged from the leaves. He blinked as if cold water had been splashed in his eyes, suddenly stinging. His surroundings felt sharper now and when he looked down at her yellow eyes he shuddered.

Sam forced himself to appear relaxed. Her green skin had a gleam to it that wasn't sweat, but she was getting close enough that Sam could easily be proven wrong. Her bare feet were remarkably small, dirt flecking at the toes. Tiny hands snaked out from beneath the thick vegetation and white spots dotted from the tips of her fingers to her wrists. She stood up on her tip toes to reach him, mouth open and her mouth was a sucker full of needles. Sam raised the knife high as he tugged a handful of vines revealing more beneath. She shrieked before he could cut her, the sound twisting inside his ears and he dropped her vines to clutch at his ears. Sam kept the blade raised, staggering as her mouth snapped shut and the terrible screech cut itself off. The leer in her voice made him dizzy.

"Rude creature." It laughed. "Trying to ravish me are you?"

Sam choked, sudden bile in his throat. "Naturally." He croaked.

He shifted his stance and angled the blade. The trees behind him shuddered and he whipped his head around to see more fae emerge. A fat black furred creature with a duck bill and thick claws, a spindly spider –like man that mewled as he walked. He carried a wooden cage with what looked like some type of sprites fluttering inside. Another one of what Sam assumed was female. She had violet skin and multiple arms. Each limb jangled with a piece of jewelry that shimmered in the light. When she smiled, her mouth stretched to her jawbones. Sam swallowed convulsively. He flinched at the ghost-flutter of something on his skin. Vines wrapped along his arms.

"You shouldn't tease a maiden like that."  
____________________________________________________

Gabriel flicked a stray grasshopper off his elbow, humming as he peered about the clearing. Isabelle murmured and at first Gabriel was content to ignore it until her sounds started to form actual words.

"Hm? Speak up."

Isabelle turned to Gabriel. Her eyes were open but far from clear and her voice slurred as she spoke.

"Alec? Alec, can you find Max for me? I need him."

Gabriel tutted. "Ah damn it sweetheart. That just ain't gonna happen."

Isabelle frowned, the expression taking so long; she didn't keep it for long before her face went slack again. Her cheeks puffed with air and foamy spit. Gabriel pulled a face as the wetness splashed against the bark. Isabelle wheezed again, a faint tinge of blue to her face. Gabriel debated about what to do but Isabelle hacked for a moment, breathing somewhat returned to normal.

"Noooooooo." She moaned. "I need him, Alec….gimme Alec He's you and Jace is…"

She murmured, words strung together until they became gibberish once more. Gabriel sighed. His wings itched and he shifted against the bark of the tree. A shrill pitch of laughter came from somewhere on his left in the distance. He suppressed the snarl that threatened to leave his throat. The limbs that he had borrowed for so long that he now considered his trembled with the strain on their fixed position. Isabelle's presence pinned him like a butterfly to a cork board.

"Dammit kiddo, hurry up."

Isabelle groaned. A deep rattle that sounded like it had come from the lowest depths of her stomach. It whirled up from her chest with a frothy gurgle. Her skin became a shade paler than ash as she began to chant out names rapidly. Gabriel could make out the name Max before the syllables became mangled. Blood dribbled out from her nose. It was bright on her nose and lips. Gabriel whistled.

"Well shit."

His head twisted, cocking to the left before the sound could catch up. The foliage rustled, scattering beams of light. One in particular scattered to the side and Gabriel was reminded of a kaleidoscope. He snorted.

"Look, you gonna come out of what? I'm not in the mood for games."

The branches shuddered harder as a fae pushed past them, armored bark gleaming. The pointed features cut through the cascading dark hair. Gabriel sneered. The burnt color of the eyes shined for a moment as the eyes themselves widened for and then settled. He studied them and Gabriel lifted his chin. He took a long stare at Gabriel, lips pressed into a thin line. He gave haughty turn of his head to regard Gabriel's companion. A spark of recognition flared up. Gabriel quirked an eyebrow.

"See a familiar face?"

The fae took his time before speaking. When he did, his voice was a deep melodious tenor. Gabriel scowled briefly, stamping down the urge to cover his ears.

"Indeed if this be Isabelle Lightwood."

"Indeed it be. Sharp eyes there Legolas."

The fae frowned. His fingers twitched for the long piece of bark that was belted at his waist. Gabriel put on his best 'give no fucks' face.

"Well I gotta call ya something if you're gonna be so shy."

"Have a care how you address me, creature. This is no place to play at."

Gabriel bit back the growl in his throat, wings flaring up. The leaves shivered above him and fruit from the adjacent trees fell to the ground with soft thumps. Cracks appeared in the fae's armor. He stumbled back in surprise, only to look up at Gabriel in shock. His slim fingers encircled his weapon. If Gabriel had been an actual trickster he would have been nervous. As it was he gave a brief smirk to put a real trickster to shame.

"And here I thought this was a party."

The fae inclined his head, black hair spilling down his shoulders. His hands moved back down to his sides. Beside Gabriel, Isabelle choked, head bobbing up and down and her eyes went wide. Gabriel frowned; she was trying to move around, but she was blinking too rapidly to get a sense of direction. She swayed; an odd sobbing ripping out of her throat as her breath came in swooping inhales from her nose. Isabelle fell back to the ground with a moan. The fae eyed her with a look that Gabriel didn't want to decipher.

"Look, you want her to die or not?"

The fae snapped his head back at Gabriel, who gave another smile. He seemed to be weighing something and moved to their side with a deliberate slowness. He put two fingers to the pulse at Isabelle's throat. She flinched at the touch, a bruise beginning to bloom along the vein. More blood gushed from her nose. Her eyes were wide now, dark irises darting like ping pong balls. He removed his fingers but stayed crouched as he addressed Gabriel.

"She has been poisoned. By what, I cannot say." He frowned. "I believe my queen would hold the answers, but she is not beholden to give them."

"I'm sure we can work something out."

He nodded and Gabriel clapped his hand on the fae's shoulder. The armor at the joint cracked, roots showing where the pieces had been stitched together. The earthy smell the bark released was old but it was worth it to see the way the fae man flinch and turn pale. He nodded to himself as the two bent down to pick up Isabelle. At their touch she screamed. Gabriel smirked at the brief but unguarded alarm on the other man's face, even as he almost flung Isabelle away from him. Gabriel tightened his hold on Isabelle. Tight lines appeared on her face and neck as though the blood vessels beneath the skin were struck by lightning. Her lips quivered.

Together the two shuffled along to the path. Isabelle's agonized cries drowned out the revelers pipes and harps. The sunlight hit her face, revealing the bloodshot eyes as the leaves made pretty shadow patterns all along her face. Tears streamed down her face as she began to babble in Latin. He studied her face. He pictured the way the decades would march across her face if she managed to live through this encounter. Gabriel could imagine how motherhood might look like on her. A sharp burst of laughter down the bend made Gabriel look up sharply.

The fae man paid it no mind as they took the turn but Gabriel kept his wings up as they maneuvered past. However Gabriel stopped. A small group of fairies clustered around a man. A man that Gabriel knew to be Sam. He would have face-palmed if not for the fact that he was carrying Isabelle.

Sam sat in the center of the ring of fairies. A violet skinned woman with four arms was braiding Sam's hair, plucking flowers from the ground and weaving it into a flower crown. Her zipper-like smile was fixed in place as white sprays of flowers adorned Sam. A spindly spider man was prodding at a wicker cage. He opened the small door. Sprites fluttered to Sam, nibbling on his fingers. Sam laughed and waved his fingers at them, ignoring the way they drew blood. An ivy woman was stroking the denim of his jeans, green leaves rucking up his shirt to get at the revealed hipbones. A portly furred pookah dangled a piece of fruit above Sam. Sam was eyeing the huge globes of dark fruit with obvious interest. He started like an eager puppy, wriggling as he stared upwards. Whenever he laughed, it came out as a drunken croon.

This time Gabriel did growl, a small haze of heat around him whenever his wings vibrated. He tried to set Isabelle to the ground as gently as possible. The creatures did not notice his approach, so involved with their new toy. The gleam of an archangel's blade caught his eye. It had been discarded in the dirt a few feet away from Sam, as if flung from over a shoulder. Gabriel picked up the blade and dusting it off then strode over to them.  
_______________________________________________________

Sam giggled; the fuzzy sensation didn't lessen when he moved. Strange hands stroked him but he didn't mind. It was a pleasant feeling-especially since he was trying to figure out what the word to what he was feeling was. He leaned back, swaying before he caught himself from flopping back into the dirt. Sam giggled harder. Punch-drunk that was it. Punch drunk, drunk-as-punch-moonstruck drunk. Drunk on the moon. He leaned into the touch of the woman who had the vines. She must never have seen flannel before, because she kept tugging at his shirt. He was about to take it off to show her when a crunch of grass made him look up. That and the smell of burnt toast. No wait, not quite toast, but something else burn-y. Smelled kinda good.

"Gabriel."

He smiled. From this angle the archangel looked tall. Huh, surprisingly impressive. Even more impressive was the serious-face he was making. Sam wasn't sure if he had seen serious-face Gabriel before and was trying to recall so when the man spoke.

"Time to go Sammy."

Sam squinted. Huh. "Wow…you're bossy…and short-" He broke off into yet another fit of giggles.

The violet woman stroked Sam's hair, giving him scalp-tinglies and he gave a slow little wiggle. He tried to make a sweeping gesture behind him, as if to say, 'these are my friends', but his hands just flopped after a few moments and he shrugged. He opened his mouth to explain this but all that came out was a small burp. His friends laughed; they made the prettiest sounds. He flushed, feeling his grin go wide as the Ivy woman crooned. He looked back at Gabriel. Sam tilted his head at the expression on his face. Like thunder-it went well with the burnt smell coming off him.

'It suits him. Huh, I should tell him that. Wonder what else he smells like.'

He was about to ask when he noticed that Gabriel was holding his sword. Sam shivered, opening his mouth over and over like a fish. As the archangel got closer, Sam shrank down. Gabriel wasn't looking at him and Sam twisted to see the faerie friends had scattered back a few paces as Gabriel got close. Sam frowned. Gabriel fixed the faeries with a look and then bent down to Sam's level.

Sam swallowed quickly. He never realized that Gabriel had mud-river eyes. Gold and green and brown all at the same time. He's about to say so when Gabriel kisses him. Soft-deft lips are pressing into his and Sam opens his mouth. He shivers. Gabriel runs fingers through Sam's hair and it takes a minute for Sam to recognize that all his flowers are being taken out. Gabriel gives a little tug and Sam gives a little mewl. A tiny jolt goes through his scalp and he gives a little kick. Gabriel is still leaning down, only his lips and hands touching Sam while the rest of him stays stock still. Which is not good enough in Sam's opinion.

Sam leans forward, back aching a little as he strains to press his mouth harder on the angel's. Sam's knees are bent at an awkward angle; too tall to be crouching to a shorter man who is only taller by the way he is sitting. He tumbles into Gabriel, into open mouthed kisses. Sam gives a moan and then it's a sudden press of Gabriel. The angel kissing back just as furiously as he is. Gabriel's tongue sweeps into his mouth and Sam trembles like his whole world has collapsed. Firecrackers popping off in his chest and lower abdomen curling in a familiar way. Sam gives a slow shuddery breath through his nose. He knows his eyes are half lidded and sleepy looking.

Gabriel tastes like burned sugar and something smoky too, like something dredged up from somewhere deep. A citrus-y tang dripping on his teeth. It suits him. Sam tries to get at Gabriel's tongue. Gabriel pushes Sam into the tree and Sam gives a little gasp. Sam finds Gabriel's jaw, the barest hint of peach fuzz reminds him of-of-his thoughts get tangled and he works his way up to the man's hair. Softer than he pictured and he plays with it before grabbing Gabriel's shoulders. His grip must have been stronger than he thought because Gabriel moans loudly into Sam's mouth.

Gabriel suddenly pulls back, gasping-no hyperventilating. Pupils blown wide beneath the rapid, hummingbird flutters of his eyelids. His lips are parted, still slick with Sam. They are bruised, plump like he's been licking salt. He sways forward, hair brushing Sam's shoulders. Sam stares, every strand is lit up. It's a pale gold-blondes and reds and-his vision feels sharper than usual. He blinks. Wait-

"Ooookay, we gotta focus Sammy."

Sam whips his head back to Gabriel. It was the shuddery, cautious tone that made him look back to the archangel. When he met Gabriel's eyes, he swallowed. His heart fluttered high up to his nose. Gabriel pressed his lips to Sam, this time in a chaste, slightly parted way. Sam closed his eyes as another fluttery firm kiss came to him and he pursed his lips to respond just as Gabriel pulled away.

Gabriel pulled back slowly and Sam had to prevent himself from following. As Gabriel leaned back, the heat on Sam's face came seconds before the realization. Then the slow dawning comprehension that for the last few moments of the kiss, he had regained awareness and that he didn't mind those lips in the slightest. He knew he was gaping at Gabriel as the archangel gave him a smile he couldn't quite place. Sunlight was filtering down onto him and Sam felt himself flush all over. Gabriel extended a hand to him and how Sam managed to take it, he wasn't sure.

"You good?" he asked.

All Sam could do was nod, unable to trust himself to speak. Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good, cuz we gotta bail-"

Sam didn't wait to hear the rest, striding past him to see Isabelle on the ground and helping a fae knight-Meliorn if he remembers right-pick her up.  
_________________________________________________________

Pain. A jolt that sends her spine rocketing-it's literally shot out of her body, but she can't go limp or die. Her eyes follow the dancing patterns of the shade on the leaves. They turn to claws that jump down to her and she screams. The logs carting her around tighten until they turn to whips. She gasping-no more cuts or tears please and her teeth chatter. She spits out pennies and they clatter to the floor. No matter how she cries out the pennies never leave her be. She needs her brothers to make it stop. Every move is torture, sharp pain pain pain when she tries. She feels her lungs deflate There is a buzzing in ears before she's set down on the ground and can breathe again.

A gasp so loud-head finally hitting air. A sea of green. Green and gold and red. So much red string, no hair. She can barely turn her head, but the voice that wafts out is as familiar as bile. She gags and for some reason the world snaps into focus.

"Lake Lyn. She must have fallen in-"

"Yeah sure we'll go with that."

"Can you-"

High laugh and she flinches. Breath in short pants, too quick for in and out. A huge hand descends on her, squeezing in gentle semi-circles. Yes, is that Alec?

"I implore you-"

A bright flash of light and then shouts. Applause. Who's on stage? Another shoulder squeeze. Air wrenched out of her. No wait, she needs that. Her eyes turn for her and she sees, so clear and sharp-a golden feather. She squints-are those scars? They do nothing to lessen the shine-

"Here, how bout' you take this instead."

"Very well, I-"

A finger snap or a thunder clap? Her ears rings, pennies pouring out of them. A shadow rips itself free from the ground and walks toward her. She screams, unable to move. Heavy weights are pinning her to the earth; so she's going to take the shadow's place? Her jaws ache and she drowns. It's all she knows until she's dragged into the inky waters.  
_____________________________________________

A small grunt and she already knows that it's her making the noise. Isabelle doesn't bother trying to sit up yet, she just turns her head. Isabelle is just in time to see the faerie queen admire a golden feather. It doesn't quite reflect the shine in her eyes but it's enough that Isabelle feels her face work into a grimace. The queen wheels around to face her audience. A smile on her face.

"Beholden the truth, straight from the angels-Clave and Covenant are no more!"

A cheer rises up and Isabelle feels something inside her clench. It takes all she has to breathe, slow and deep through her nose. Her teeth are still clenched and unable to unscrew themselves from their fixed points. Blood welled in her palms, squinching in between her curled fingers. It's nice and warm outside of her body. She shivers.

"That isn't a cause for celebration-my lady"

Sam's voice. The hesitant tone is marred by the truth. The queen stops mid-laugh.

"Prey tell why?"

"Because the laws that bound you also protected you. Now it's an even playing field."

The queen huffed, a strand of red hair falling in her face. She blew the strand away from her. Isabelle flinched at the gesture. She fixed the three with what Isabelle figured must be an indolent look.

"As you say." She gave a little breathy laugh full of mockery. "Even field indeed. You may go; I've grown bored of your antics. Meliorn escort them out."

Meliorn led them out of the orchard where the queen lounged with her courtiers. Isabelle was the last to rise, taking slow and measured steps. They left the music behind, and Isabelle no longer felt the need to plug her ears. Her feet stomped at the hard packed ground, the grass now looking soft as sponge cake and Isabelle's lip curled. Meliorn led them all the way to the edges of the woods to a small grainy shore.

A small crystalline paddle boat was idling. It may not have been tied to anything, but it didn't drift away. Meliorn made a sort of shooing motion at them before giving a shallow bow.

"It will take you to shore." He intoned.

"Stay classy." Gabriel said as he hopped into the boat. "Shake a leg Sammy."

"It's Sam."

Isabelle turned away from Meliorn, not looking behind her as she slid into the boat. As soon as her bottom touched the boat she shivered. It was made out of ice. Once they were all sitting the boat moved of its own accord, water sloshing at the sides. Isabelle didn't bother to watch the shore shrink behind her, instead looking down into the water. Scales glimmered as hair floated past. When she spoke, her voice sounded far away from her ears. As if she was underwater herself.

"Hey boys don't put anything in the water. There are mermaids down there."

"Yeesh." Gabriel said. "Forgot about those carnivorous little buggers."

Sam made a noise of noncommittal disgust.

Isabelle looked up at that, suddenly disinterested in the water. It only took about half an hour to notice that Sam wasn't looking Gabriel in the eye. She shrugged and waited until they reached the shore. The boat turned and left the moment they stepped out of it.

It had dropped them off on the outskirts of a town; Isabelle wasn't too sure where, but Gabriel's bemused cry of 'Jersey' was all she needed to know. They walked until a parking lot greeted them. It was behind a store front and few cars were in the lot. The sun was rising, hitting the windows of the cars. As she stood in the middle of the asphalt, Sam and Gabriel looked to be a heated discussion. Or at the very least Sam was, with Gabriel shrugging his shoulders with a slight leer on his face. Same turned away from him and went to a car. He jimmied it open. Gabriel walked over to her and tugged on her arm.

"C'om on, Jersey blows, we need to leave before I melt."

Isabelle shrugged, following him. She slid into the passenger seat. From the front she could hear Gabriel chirrup.

"So what's the plan, Sammy?"

"Sam. We're going to Bobby's. If anyone can throw a game plan together it's him."

They pulled out of the parking lot and barreled down the road.

"Say kiddo-"

Isabelle drown out the rest of the words, not catching the way Sam angled the rear view mirror to give her a glance. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.  
______________________________________________

TBC…


	16. The singing stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own either series. Just playin’ with em’ for your entertainment.   
> Warnings: The usual.   
> Word Count: 8,603  
> AN: Enjoy!

He gasped as the clouds overhead spun into place. Overcast sky stared back at him. Shivering, Jace struggled to sit up. Red and gold leaves blazed as the only color in his surroundings. The cool air made his skin feel gritty. Palms flat against the earth, fingers bending and straightening in the dirt. Solid under his touch. No burning Idrisian sky. He breathed deep. In the distance a car horn bleated. Jace stamped down on the urge to call for Clary, Alec, or Isabelle. No one was in the vicinity and no sword either.

Jace blinked and his vision sharpened to its original scope. A back-yard. He was in someone’s backyard. Spacious and filled with dying flowers, their colors fading; petals crusting and brown at the edges. One large tree stood in the center. A large vine snaked its way up with its pale ivy chocking the branches. The house was an old-fashioned anti-bellum colonial with a wraparound porch. An iron wrought fenced him along with the house. He stared out past the bars and shivered.

Someone whistled. “Well well, look what fell into my lap.”

Jace stood up and took a loose stance in one fluid motion. Standing before him was a somewhat short man in a dark three piece suit and matching overcoat. Slade sharp eyes stared him up and down. Jace wrinkled his nose; the man had a peculiar scent. Rotten eggs. He smiled to himself. 

“Well here I am.” Jace gave a tight grin. “So what’s a demon want with little ol’ me?”

“Sharp lad.” His eyes flashed. “Though let’s not be too hasty. You’re in my house now.” He made an abortive motion.

Jace reached down his boot and threw his knife. The demon inclined his head, the dagger slicing past his cheek. The demon tutted, raising two fingers. Jace was flung into the tree. He grunted, head barely able to tilt, muscles straining but unable to carry out complex movement. Sneering, he kept his eyes trained on the demon. Said demon sauntered over to him. 

“We need to talk.”

“Shouldn’t you buy me a drink first?”

“Ah so you’re like me-the wine an’ dine sort.” He raised his hand and made a sweeping gesture to the house. “Name’s Crowley. I’m here to make an offer you can’t refuse.”

Jace laughed, the scent of ivy filling his nose as thunder began in the distance-or was that a firecracker? He had no more knives on him, but he could still recall the necessary Latin. Crowley smiled as if he just found a remarkably small yappy dog. He snapped his fingers and Jace’s lips pressed tight as if they had been super glued together. Jace gave a muffled sentence in return, but Crowley paid it no mind.

“Ah ah ah. No silly little exorcisms to smoke me out. I just want to talk.” At Jace’s eye roll, he elaborated. “Really, you nephilim are such a wet lot. Inadaptability is the reason your kind are going extinct. So by all means, stay pinned to this tree if you like. Me? I’ll be trying to figure out how to stop the devil.”

Crowley pivoted on his heel in the direction of the house. Jace growled out, mouth working against the gag. His muffled sounds resembled words, repeating themselves. Crowley paused and then turned to face Jace. He cupped one of his ears. 

“Sorry what was that?”

Jace gave another muffled reply. Crowley gave a little laugh and undid the gag. Jace gasped, sharp air attacking his lungs. He was still trying to get oxygen so let the smirk drop away from his face.

“Ok, I’ll bite.” He gave a swooping exhale. “We trade information. That’s it.”

“Knew you’d see it my way.”

Unpinned, his muscles didn’t help him as he slid down the tree. His feet shuddered at the impact. Crowley turned around and Jace searched the area for his knife. It rested in a clump of rose bushes, glinting against the pink and red blooms. Petals fluttered to the ground as Crowley snatched up the knife. 

Jace scowled but said nothing. As stepped onto the porch, his feet trembled. A vibrating wrenching sensation traveled up his body, muscles useless to prevent the notion that he was about to be flown backwards. He shook, almost choking. Body buzzing, wincing at how it reverberated in his ears, seething in his skin. A vague queasiness in his stomach. His eyes watered as if salt had been flung in them. He panted. Crowley was half way inside the house, still holding the door open. Jace swallowed heavily, brushing past the demon. A spacious dining room that lead to a foyer and a wide staircase was the only thing he caught a glimpse of before being flung out the door and tumbling off the porch.

“Huh. So angel proofing works against you. Fancy that.”

Jace got to his feet. “A demon that wards against angels. How unsurprising.” 

Crowley laughed. “Naturally. It’s a pleasant to know you’re just enough of a feathery ass for it to work.”

Jace clicked his teeth. “So you’re saying I have a nice ass?”

“It’s the only thing you’ve got going for you darling.”

“And I suppose you’re here to teach me a better way out of the evilness of your heart?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

Crowley shut the door behind him. “Let’s get to brass tacks shall we?”

“Yeah alright. What information are you fishing for?”

“The kind that lets me know if I played my cards right.”

Jace gave brief huff of laughter. “Like giving an enchanted gun to a bunch of mundane-hunters and expecting Lucifer to be dead the next morning?” He shook a finger. “Isn’t that a bit like losing at solitaire?” 

Crowley gave a little shrug. “A bit but you work with what you’ve got. Which is essentially what I’m doing right now.”

“Well then you can’t lose.”

“I really hope that’s true. Your losing streak is pretty distressing.”

“Yeah I imagine you might know a little something about that.”

“We all have. Which is why I need to know if the boys made it out alive.”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Fair enough. What is to your knowledge?”

“The Nephilim called for a mandatory meeting back to Idris-to discuss how to deal with Valentine.” At Crowley’s nod he continued. “And turns out he was fool enough to make a partnership with Lucifer.”

“Lemme guess, he’s wearing Valentine as a meatsuit.”

“Yeah.”

“He trapped everyone inside Idris with a barrier.” Jace swallowed, feeling something tighten inside himself. “I tried to fight him and…and when I came to, I was here.” 

“Hmm. Birdies told me that there was no more Idris. It’s been destroyed. Completely wiped off the map. What I want to know is how you survived.” 

Crowley eyed him as he staggered back. Jace gritted his teeth, preventing whatever bile that was in his stomach. The world shrunk, like he was a giant in a snow globe. Limbs buzzed, his entire circulatory system cut off; pins and needles that he wished would drive through him. Jace shuddered and straightened when he caught Crowley staring at him. The demon said nothing.

“So…sole survivor?”

‘…Clary. It had to be her. I’m here because of her.’

Jace clenched his teeth. “Go to hell.”

“Not today love.” Crowley pursed his lips. “Trying to give the devil the slip is not an easy thing to do. Which leads me to my second point. You need protection. All innuendo implied.” 

“What, from you? Again, go to hell.”

“And again, if not from me then who else? I-”

Jace gave a snarling laugh. “Lemme guess, you’ve got someone lined up, along with a few ideas I’m sure.”

“A fair few. How about you give a listen? I can give you anything mate.” 

“And all it costs is my soul?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Jace clenched his fists. “Quit screwing with me-”

“I can’t help it. You make it so fun. You must get this often.”

“Gee all the time.” 

“Then you don’t mind if I do it some more. If you’ve lost the colt-” he held up a hand. “Don’t make me peanut butter your mouth again. There is another weapon. One you really don’t want Lucifer get his hands on. I know where it is. If you don’t want a demon’s protection, then how about a reaper's?”

“Excuse me?”

“A reaper. You know, dresses in black. Carries a scythe?”

“Yeah I’m familiar. Skip to the good stuff.”

“Reapers are not only psychopomps; they are also used in rituals, even those of the Silent Brothers. What, your little play group wasn't as secret as you thought it was. You summon a reaper; you can get what you want.” 

“And in turn, you get what you want.”

“That’s how synergy works.”

“…Fine, why the hell not? Nothing else to lose huh?”

“Atta boy.”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
A faint drizzle had started up but that didn’t deter Jace. The circle was completed, necessary ingredients lain out and used. Crowley leaned on the porch railings with a tumbler of scotch in hand. Jace’s throat was sore from the Latin rattling around. He stared straight ahead, the chill air ghosting over his face. The world was sapped of color and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Huh. Usually I’m the one chasing, not being chased.”

Jace jumped, turning his attention back to the summoning circle. A woman stood in its center. She was staring straight at Jace and brushed back strands of black hair. Her eyes were a very strange shade of olive green. Slashes of grey-blue within them, sharp as blades. A very pale and softly angled face with wide eyes and full lips. 

“You called?”

Jace pushed his lips up in an imitation of a smile. His stance widened and hands itched for a blade. She eyed him, not quite a smile on her face. Jace made his way closer to the circle, shoes keeping clear of the painted lines. He watched her stay still, watching him. She dressed like a normal person; dark jeans, boots, a plain green shirt, and black leather jacket. Glossy black hair just barely scraped her shoulders. 

“Yeah. Honestly, I didn’t think having a reaper on speed dial would come in handy. Silly me.”

“I suppose you’d be surprised. You like to be called Jace, is that right? Well Jace, I’m Tessa.”

“Well hey Tessa. Yeah they call me Jace…just Jace.”

“Ok just Jace. You’ve summoned me for a reason.”

“That I did. I’ve got a deal for you.”

“Is that you or the demon talking?”

“Bit of both really.”

Tessa inclined her head. “Ok, I’ll bite. What are you offering?”

“Death’s scythe.”

Tessa raised a single eyebrow, wetting her lips. She shifted her body, keeping on her feet, adjusting herself within the circle. Her eyes went sharp and she squared her shoulders. Jace recognized the response; he had been doing it himself. Doing it for years; seeing it mirrored back to him made a knot loosen inside his chest. Jace raised his arms, revealing bare palms. He bent his knees, at slight kneel and made no move to come any closer.

“Hey I understand why you wouldn’t trust me. Especially me. You’ve been summoned by a nephilim in the company of a demon to talk about a weapon. It does sound like a trap. Cookie for you.”

“Is that all for me?” She gave him a soft smile. “Is that all there is for you?”

What was knocked loosed from earlier, tumbled something inside. He imagined his ribs rattled loosen, plunking down into his stomach and to scrape at his intestines. Maybe it came from the sword. The ache from the blade before a beam of heated white light. One look at her eyes and he knew he was lying. Jace went over the various enchantments that could be placed on him; knowledge of reapers was woefully unprepared. 

She walked to him and Jace took a step a back. He shivered as the ease that her eyes pulled to him in a magnetic sort of way-predestined to stake a claim. Jace pulled back, like something burned in him. Crowley cleared his throat. 

“I can tell you where the scythe is and can point you in the right direction.”

Tessa leveled a glare at the demon. She nodded. “Obviously. I’m more interested in Jace. There is a disruption in the balance.”

Crowley waved his hand. “Yes yes yes. Course’ you can fix that.”

“Doesn’t mean I should.” 

“C’om on have a heart-”

“Sorry no, dice.”

Jace cut in. “We go and get the scythe in exchange for this supposed protection that I supposedly need.” He put air quotes on the need. “Take it or leave it, makes no difference to me.” 

Both turned to him to give their own patented glares. Jace shrugged. To them. He regarded Tessa far longer. Her eyes clouded over for a moment. Then she stared back at Jace and nodded. 

“Alright. Protection first.”

Jace smirked. “You said it not me.” 

The smile that Tessa was brief and it gave the impression that is was only for his benefit and not actual amusement. Crowley smirked and gave a little nod. He disappeared back into his house. He emerged with a small table. He made a few more trips, ingredients in his hands. Candles, bowls, salt, water, and a small knife. He set the table in the middle of the yard, setting a tablecloth with an elaborate circle in the center, sigils inside the center of the circle. Jace squinted. Only a few of the markings were runes, but he wasn’t sure what they meant. 

Crowley lit the candles and set the bowl down. Tessa strode forward and Jace set his pace to match hers. They stood at opposite ends of the table. Tessa gestured Jace to hold out his arms. He did so and without thinking, took out his stele and handed it to her. She took it before Jace could ask for it back. Crowley began to chant in tandem with Tessa, who started Marking Jace’s arms. 

The power fluttered in the air, growing stronger as Crowley’s invocation sped up. The demon held the knife. A nice wave to the blade, brass handle gleaming in the small pinpricks of candlelight. Crowley held a small cup in the other hand. His arm moved smoothly, nicking Tessa’s neck with the tip of the blade. She only narrowed her eyes for a moment, mouth pressed together in a thin line. As soon as Crowley removed the knife, the cup took its spot. Crowley pressed down on Tessa’s neck. Blood moved down in an unbroken line. Jace’s arms burned. Crowley went to Jace to replicate the procedure. 

Jace jerked by an inch and Crowley gripped Jace’s neck and fixed him in place. When Crowley moved back, he swished their combined blood together and then added what Jace assumed to be holy water by how gingerly Crowley held the container. He sprinkled some of it into the cup. It was set down into the center of the bowl and Jace saw that the rest of the holy water was set into the bowl, green herbs floating on the surface. Crowley flicked the remaining blood off the blade of the knife, set it on the table and stepped back. 

Jace’s eyes flickered down to his arms. They had been marked up from palm to shoulder. Sweat beading on the back of his neck and shoulders. He felt Tessa’s eyes on him and he stared back up at her. The haze in the air and the smell of the herbs-he couldn’t remember their names, why couldn’t he-made his eyes water. Tessa began to speak and Crowley took over the chant, or was it Tessa’s voice? He frowned, it was something that he couldn’t put his finger on, but he knew that voice-her voice. 

Tessa grabbed Jace’s hands and together put the two pairs of hands into the bowl, careful not to jostle the cup inside. The liquid cold and slightly pleasant on his heated limbs as the temperature traveled up. Tessa entwined their fingers together guiding them to grasp the cup and lifting it out. Tessa lifted it to shoulder length. She moved the cup to her lips, muddying them with the bright color. She pushed the cup to him and Jace opened his mouth in a vague disquiet sort of way. It sloshed down his throat. He could barely taste it. As soon as he tried, numbness went over him. He drained the cup. His body buzzed. Tessa moved to his side as if she had always been there. Jace opened his mouth to say something. 

Chanting vibrated in the air as she put her mouth on his. Jace’s mind slowed, body buzzing almost to the point of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and the idea that Tessa was expanding beside him. Something didn’t feel like hands was brushing through his hair and his muscles relaxed. His chest ballooned and he exhaled. The firm pressed of her lips kept him bound, his feet tethered while he himself went somewhere else.

The image of Valentine running him through, his body falling onto wet sand. Clary curled up inside a circle. Raziel-yes that’s who sprayed up out of the waters with ozone steaming through the air. Flaming spit bursting a hole through Valentine and the man rising as though that meant nothing. 

He ignored Clary’s agonized glares. He looked up to see the howling forms of Lucifer and Raziel whirling above. Lucifer’s wings hummed with delight. Air rent with angel reek as deafening booms shook the ground. He could see unimpeded, but the sight wasn’t his. His eyes fixed on himself, form prone as Clary raced to him. She was carrying the mortal sword; tip dragging in the sand. As soon as he reached himself, there was a terrible yawning opening that he dived into. Chest concaved but he wanted to swim in his ribcage; hands clinging to the bone to stay. 

His golden eyes stared back and up. The air bent and wavered. Jace choked. He wasn’t looking down at himself-he was someone else looking down at him. He couldn’t scream; not locked inside himself anymore but unable to protest as Clary tried to heave his body up. Lucifer and Raziel crashed together overhead, blows shattering the sky. Raziel’s wings scraped at the air, molecules buzzing in tandem with Lucifer spewing insults. He drew attention by to himself. Clary dragged them through one of her portals. She leaned into it headfirst, Jace falling with her. 

He caught one last glimpse of the earth and sky crumpling in on themselves as bars of light stabbed in all directions. Following Clary-watching himself being ripped from her hands, body flopping and whirling away. The sky opening up as he fell down. Grass rushing to meet him. He opened his eyes with a gasp. Tessa pulled away from him and already seemed different. He stared at her and for a second her eyes were iridescent. Jace looked down in time to see the Marks on his arms fade like invisible ink. He winced. Colors were normal again. Tessa gave an appraising look as she stepped back and crossed her arms. 

“There.”

“Balance all set?”

“Not quite.” Tessa turned to Crowley. “Now. A bargain is a bargain.”

“Indeed love. The scythe resides with the Iron Sisters. The entrance is a little…tedious.”

“Not for me.” Tessa said.

“Good luck kiddies.”

Before Jace could give the last word, Tessa grabbed his shoulder. He blinked open his eyes. They stood in a forest’s clearing beside a well. The leaves on the trees burned with bright reds and oranges. The dark bark was patchy with gleaming frost. Small puffs of breath clouding around his face. A lighthouse stood in the distance. If Jace concentrated hard enough, he could hear the ebb and pull of the ocean. The grass crunched under his feet. Jace turned his attention back to the well. 

It was unremarkable except for the runes that decorated their surface. Their power hummed like an electric fence. Holding palms over the runes, he heated his hands. He shrugged and pressed his fingertips to the rim of the well. At his touch the markings lit up and he pulled back sharply before his fingers could steam. Jace cradled his hand for a second, the sizzle of his flesh only a temporary sound. Turning to Tessa, he said:

“So…swan dive?”

“After you.”

“Naturally. Head first or what?”

“Might be a good idea.”

Jace grinned. He set his hands on the rim, keeping them in place. The smell of burning skin rose up to meet him. He pressed his palms hard into the stone, bracing as he brought up his knees to crouch down on top of the well. He bent lower into a diver’s position and kicked off. Jace kept his legs straight. He slid down, space wide enough that he moved down unimpeded. 

It was another second before he hit the water. Warm liquid enveloped him. Sprays shot over his body, he jolted at the impact, slowing enough to bring his hands to his face to keep his eyes clear. Jace spread out his arms, waving them until his hands hit the walls of the well. He pushed against the wall; kicking in a steady rhythm as he inched along. Bubbles brushed past his cheeks as he let out a steady stream through his nostrils from the constant exhale. His chest rattled, ribs aching as his heart pounded. The farther down he went, the hotter the water got. The stone walls got rougher, moss soft against his finger pads. Water hummed with heat. Jace's vision wavered and ears popping, he kicked faster. Lungs screamed as his hands missed stone and passed between water.

He couldn't see a bottom as the pressure in his head became unbearable. Spreading his limbs as far as he could go. Jace was not blocked by walls any longer. He twisted his head up and saw light reflecting off the surface of the water. Kicking hard, he broke the surface with a loud gasp. A small splash made turn around in time to see Tessa come up to the surface. She paddled over to his side, water up to her chin. Black hair floated and fanned around her. 

"We're inside...the what, the moat?"

"As far as I can tell. This is the lowest level. We'll need to go up much higher to get to the ground level."

"Can do."

Jace rubbed his eyes. The room was expansive. The water was contained in a rectangular, pool sized space. It had to be at least ten feet deep. Jace kicked out to find no bottom but the pool had an indent a foot deep all around the pool. On the left were two alcoves with bars blocking their entrance. A little bit closer to the center was a set of stairs. He could see it twist a little before bending out of sight. Jace paddled to the corner and pushed himself up and out. Tessa brushed her jacket dry as Jace rung out the hem of his shirt. Jace's gaze swept across the room and when he found nothing useful, he went up the stairs. 

They led to a dining room. A heavy table in the center, fire place behind the head of the table. Chandeliers swung overhead. Circular and iron-hewn, their candleholders still held long candles. At least three dangled overhead on long thick chains. Jace hurried up the second set of stairs. A long corridor. Shoji screens ran the length of the walls and clashed with the suits of armor lining said walls. Jace peered into the helmet of a suit closest to him. Thin vertical slits gleamed and their shine brought him near. There were no runes that he could find but something set his teeth on edge. Tessa cleared her throat and Jace tore his eyes away. 

The second he did, a metal fist crashed into the side of his face. Jace flew back and hit the other wall. It left a sprawling crack as Jace whirled back to his feet and in a stance. The suit of armor clanked forward and unsheathed its sword with an impressive echoing ring. Tessa's eyes widened but she held her ground. Mouth working, she kept her gaze trained on the suit as she tried to reach for Jace. 

"Jace-"

"Yeah. Get out of here."

"Can't without you." Her eyes darted. "Think you tripped an alarm."

Jace laughed as the suit swung the sword. He ducked, metal humming. He caught a brief glimpse of runes inscribed on the blade as it whistled past his nose. A few strands of hair floated down. The blade instead sliced into the cracked wall. The top of the screen fell away and clattered to the ground. The sound awoke the other suits of armor. Clanging to life. The broken wall revealed a tunnel on the inside and on the wall opposite, a blitzing shadow sped past. Jace clicked his teeth. 

“Tessa get inside the walls.” He dodged another blow. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Tessa made a move but a suit clamored forward, blocking her path. It raised its sword high. Jace took the armor at a running tackle, shoulder checking the hard metal. The suit fell apart as if it had been held together by tape. Runes appeared, etching themselves into the metal, burning bright as the pieces of metal scattered. Jace pivoted, having to slow his pace considerably at the ease of the suit’s demise versus his strength. They collapsed at Tessa’s feet and she weaved away from the pieces that began to rattle and reform themselves. Tessa kicked aside a knee brace as she slide to the remaining half of the screen and went into the wall. Jace hurried on her heels. 

“Keep going forward.”

“I know. We’re going to turn right.”

Shapes darted to and fro, dark enough to be seen outside the walls to the other side of screens. Inside the shoji-screened walls the space was narrow enough to move single file. The walkway was clean, with twists and turns. The screens acted very much like tinted windows. Once inside, he vision was unobscured. The walls were solid next to him. Overhead was one long pipe, its couplings etched with various runes. Jace picked out the directional runes and saw where to turn for the weapon’s room. 

A single point of light flashed opposite them. It lit up the forms only a few feet away. Jace grabbed Tessa’s wrist and pulled her back. He nodded his head in the light’s direction. Tessa stopped and looked where Jace directed her. He indicated another to turn to her just as a rune covered machete sliced through the screen and sliced by his ears. 

“Go! Keep going straight!”

The machete went past again and Jace kept pushing Tessa forward. She shook off his touch, increasing her speed. She took the lead, racing left and right and Jace had to jog to keep pace. He couldn’t see their pursuers but he could imagine their footsteps, their blades. Tessa swerved hard to the left, yanking the screen past. Jace leapt after her and closed the screen behind him. He peered around.

“The library. Huh, so those passages run through the whole building.”

“I imagine so. I also imagine that we need to hurry before they catch up.”

“Obviously. Where to now?” Jace looked up. “Aha! There.”

He pointed up. The library was at least three stories in a circular design. Ladders on rungs stood still. Their reach extended to a looped corridor with a single door. A high arched wooden number with an old fashioned brass ring in place of the door knob. Running up a ladder, he caught a glimpse of Tessa doing the same on an adjacent ladder. 

“The door-”

“Got it.”

Jace reached the door first and yanked it open. Tessa shut the door behind her. All the door led to was down. No illumination save for a very dim light from what might have been the bottom of the stairs. The old hewn stone solid under his boots but he tread lightly all the same. The staircase had a bit of a spiral to it; it got warmer the further down they went. Jace grinned. 

Clangs, bangs, hisses, and ringing. At first it had only been a faint sound; a sort of musical hum that bounced around. His shoulders tensed before slacking. He twisted his head to see Tessa stand impassively behind him. 

“What’s the hold up?”

“That sound familiar to you?” At Tessa’s blank look he continued, “Does to me.”

“A weapons room is down there?”

“Bingo bango. It’s gotta be there.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

They reached the bottom; only a single witchlight stone to light the path. Jace pressed a finger to his lips for a second, hands hover on the handle. He took out his stele, inking a quick ‘quiet’ rune on the door. It opened without a sound, only open a third of the way. Jace squeezed through. 

Entering the area, the noise was deafening as typical for a fully functioning blacksmiths’. Bellows pumped and clanked. Sparks flying upwards to catch on metal. Jace pressed himself against the stone walls. Iron Sisters. They all wore white. Simple shifts that were belted by a plain and simple cord. Each sister kept their sleeves pulled back as they worked the metal, twisting or pounding it with heat as they saw fit. None of them appeared to notice Jace or Tessa. Nor did Jace see a scythe. 

He did see chakrams, claymores, katanas, broadswords, and longswords. Daggers of all kinds lay in niches. Blades steamed, still cooling from the forge. He shivered. An Iron Sister was working an adama into stele. Her orange eyes burned and glowed in the firelight. Sweat gleamed on her forehead. She looked up from her molding and Jace ducked down. Sticking to the shadows, he hid behind a pillar. He watched the same sister walk into an alcove with a finished stele in her hands. Jace nodded his head to the alcove as the sister stepped out.

“Cover for me.” 

“Sure.”

Jace crouched low; keeping his knees at an angle, never going above shoulder length. He darted between pillars until he reached the alcove and slipped inside. It was a little bit bigger inside that Jace expected and he rifled through it as quickly as possible. Symbols, sigils, and circles were wall to wall. None seemed to affect Jace so he paid them no mind. 

‘So this is where they put the finished works. Lucky me.’ 

Curved and hooked weapons hung from hooks, brushing his hairs and tickling his ears. Gleaming blades lay carefully covered and cushioned. Steles were piled in their own corner. Jace checked. No scythe but he pocketed a few seraph blades. As soon as he did so, one of the runes flashes red and a flurry of loud movement from outside the door. Jace’s eyes widened, head darting back to his pockets and back again.

“Oops.”

He pressed the walls; none of them were sliding screens. No other way out except through the door. Jace inked a rune for speed on his arm. Said door burst open. Jace weaved past these women, missing their kicks and knives. 

“Hurry.” He shouted at Tessa.

He caught a slight movement of her from his peripheral vision. Iron Sisters were leaving their work stations to give chase. Orange eyes glowed, twin fires in their faces. One sister shook a flail, gesture reminiscent of Isabelle. Muscles shifted of their own accord and Jace avoided the attack of ease. Darting to Tessa’s side, they darted past the main forge. The passages twisted-shoji screens again. Shapes twisted behind the screens and he could have sworn he saw metal’s shadows flash. Clumps of witchlight clung to the ceilings. Other than that there were no other decorations for the halls.

“Ok, follow my lead.”

Jace swerved to the left just as a screen door on the right opened to reveal a sister with a brass dagger emerge. Jace took a running a leap to the left, getting up on the wall and kicking off. He leapt across and kick landed on the sister. She stumbled back into the hidden corridor, collapsing onto the other incoming sisters with a subdued huff of pain. Jace grabbed the witchlight stones above him, using it as a swing as he ripped the witchlight from the ceiling. It barely slowed his momentum as he kicked off another wall. The witchlight shattered behind, darkening the hall. Jace kept himself off the ground until he turned to the right to an archway in the shape of an angel. Fingers curled around the metal and he swung forward with great force. He flew into a courtyard. Jace landed in a crouch.

The open air courtyard was spacious, emerging from the west end. His landing kicked up dirt and the sky was bright and crisp. The yard was square in shape, with about three inches in shadow. A weapons rack leaned half-hidden against a wall. A wrap around balcony was overhead of him, ornate railings from the east and west. Jace slowly unwound himself and slid a dagger from his boot. He could have sworn he heard a snatch of birdsong. A minor movement. Jace caught it in time to see Iron Sisters emerge and surround him. Like vicious angels from some deep place to rip him to pieces. All of them with fiery eyes set inside marked faces. Six of them advanced on him, weapons in hand. White dresses fluttered around their bodies, cords keeping them secure. They were barefoot. Jace gripped his blade tighter. 

Together the six of them moved, flanking Jace. Usually his body would wake up at this point but instead of a heady rush of controlled fire, it was curiously numb. Everything was in clear focus, like a zoomed in camera. Despite the same dresses, runes, and orange eyes, the rest of their features were easily distinguishable. One woman strode forward. Her dark skin stood out against her dress, scars overlapping her marks. She balanced a silver mace on her shoulder. It was decorated with marks that he could have sworn were Enochian. On her left, a petite blonde with her hair in braids wielded a Kwan-Dao-a Chinese halberd. On her right, a stocky redhead carried a shield with a spike thrust out from its center and runes decorated the shield, spiraling out from the center. Beside her was a younger woman with choppy black hair. She carried an iron rod. Its point was like a fire poker’s, electrum wire wrapping all around its surface. Standing next to the blonde, was a caramel skinned older woman with a pair of elbow length curling tonfas. The final woman was a muscular brunette hefting a claymore. Wicked burns on whatever skin was visible. 

The first woman spoke. “Men are not allowed here.”

“Ahh, come on, I’m just trying to get in touch with my feminine side.”

“Nephilim or not, you are not welcome.”

“Don’t be so sexist. I’m just looking for one thing.”

“The only thing you will find is death.” Said the woman with the rod.

Jace laughed. “Oh I don’t doubt that.”

“What do you call yourself?”

“…Jace.”

“Well met.” The first woman said. “I am Vitali.”

She gestured to the women in order. 

“Agrippa.” The blonde gripped her kwan-dao tighter.

“Euphemia.” The redhead with the shield stiffened her stance.

“Cassandra.” The woman with the rod nodded.

“Fatima.” She adjusted her tonfas.

“Ruth.” She swung her claymore forward.

The six women rushed him. Jace jumped, avoiding the weapons leveled in his direction. He threw a pair of knives in midair. They were deflected by Euphemia’s rod. Jace landed in front of Ruth. She swung her claymore. He ducked. Jace avoided her blade but not her kick. Grabbing her leg just as her heel connected below the jaw, both went flying from the force of her blow. Jace hung on to her leg and they staggered, enough momentum left for Jace to shove her. Ruth careened into Cassandra. She missed the spike, head smacking into the rim, blood spurting for a second before she fell to the ground. 

Jace advanced; Cassandra bent her leg, leaning on one side, bringing her shield up. Runes began to light up on its surface, highlighting the splash of blood. The spike spun for a moment and Jace was blasted back. He landed ass first. Cassandra, Ruth, and Fatima rushed him. Jace got to his feet bracing for impact as Agrippa pole vaulted into the fray. Her blade gleamed in the sunlight, blinding him. He staggered back with a shout. Fatima swung low, flicking her wrists to extend the blades outward. The right nicked Jace’s neck. Jace caught the left blade barehanded. His blood heated in his palms as it dripped down his wrist. 

He yanked the blade from her hand, whipping the hilt and handle across her face. Fatima was unfazed, moving closer and Jace tossed the blade overhead, whistling as he did so. Fatima brought up her fists and one leg in a Mui-Thai high kick. It connected to the side of Jace’s face, the blow reverberating down his chest. Her legs coiled like serpents and Jace grabbed the front of her dress. He punched her square in the face, her nose breaking beneath his knuckles. She stumbled back, blood spurting out of her nostrils, blade still shining. 

Euphemia wrapped an arm about his waist and slapped her rod against her calf. He heard the buzz of energy just seconds before pain. The hum of a high voltage fence as she electrocuted him. He shouted, body swelling and spasming. Out of the corner of his eye. Vitali’s mace swung to his face. He flinched, the movement the only reason, he missed the blow. Metal spikes too close to his eyes, scraping past them and slicing through hair. Jace struggled hard against Euphemia; electrum wire digging into his legs, pinning him like a butterfly to a board as Cassandra hid her body behind her shield and charged.

The shield started up its hum, spike spinning Cassandra darted forward and Euphemia disentangled herself from Jace just before he was blasted backwards. Jace tumbled a few times over in the dirt. He kept the women in his sights, perspective flipping them. Instinct kicked in and Jace kicked his legs upwards, momentum propelling him back into the crowd. Ruth, who had chased him as Jace crashed into Cassandra, latching onto her before she could shake him off. Jace came up behind her, using a hold to keep her from shaking him off.   
Jace swung them around just as Ruth was about to bring down her sword. She was brought up short, claymore hovering. Jace twisted Cassandra’s arm as Vitali’s expression tightened; the shield started up as Vitali brought the sword down. It split in half just as Vitali landed on it. She howled in pain, staggering back clutching her abdomen. Cassandra freed herself from Jace’s grasp with a cry.

Hands blurring, he blocked her blows; her fists were tight while his were loose. He caught her uppercut, trapping her arm. They grappled, shield knocking into Jace; its spike had fallen off. She twisted hard to throw him off and Jace swooped low, keeping enough of a grip on her to control her momentum. Jace flipped her over, not letting go until he almost flipped with her. Cassandra screeched, shield clattering to the ground. She landed back first and hard on her shield, cracking it in half. Groaning, her eyes fluttered shut as Fatima advanced with flashing blades. 

She kept low to the ground, one foot padding in front of the other as she circled Jace. Jace mimicked her stance, keeping her blades in his field of vision. They flashed like minnows in a stream as they darted past. She became a flurry of movement. Jace swerving and leaning away. Panting, he aimed for a high kick to the chest but pulled up short when Fatima swept both blades at his feet. Jace turned his abortive movement into a leap. He landed on the other side of her and she spun around just as his feet touched the ground. 

Scything the blades, Jace couldn’t move away. Fatima brushed the blades simultaneously. One low, the other high. Jace caught in between, brought his head down and his knees up. He smashed his feet on the low blade, putting all his weight onto it as the higher blade swung down. He grabbed Fatima’s wrist. Growling, she yanked hard, unable to free herself from Jace’s grasp. He head butted her with enough force to see stars. She sagged, murmuring as the only thing keeping her up was Jace’s control of her blades. She tensed in the exact moment that something caught in Jace’s sight. 

Cassandra pulled back her fist as Fatima dropped her blades in favor of his fist. Jace swerved to the left as Fatima and Cassandra punched each other in the face. Jace winced at the resounding crack. Both women dropped. Jace dashed away from them when Vitali, Euphemia, and Agrippa kept their distance. The reach of kwan-dao enough to keep Jace’s attention on her. Vitali and Euphemia interchanged; the electrum wire hummed as the mace swung past. Jace bounced back, no weapon to parry with. 

The women were too fast for him to pull out a blade. He dropped to his knees and Euphemia flung her rod down. Jace kicked at Vitali, foot connecting with her knee. She leapt back with a grunt. Agrippa turned the edge of the blade in, turning it to his Jace with the flat side. He twisted and it slammed into part of his back and elbow. Blade’s inches from his eyes. The blade caught his shoulder, tugging his shirt as Euphemia slammed her rod into Jace, pinning him to her chest. He shouted as the shocks hit him.

Agrippa’s blade pulled back, ripping his shirt to reveal his shoulder. He wriggled his arm, trapping the kwan-dao underneath his armpit. Jace bit Euphemia’s shoulder and blood stained his teeth. Euphemia thrashed and the two locked together. Agrippa shook her weapon, unable to free it from Jace. Euphemia’s grip slackened and Jace used his opposite hand to break off the halberd’s blade. Euphemia pulled back with a roar. Stabbing her weapon at Jace’s sternum. He barely dodged a surer jab to the neck. His chest singing. Vitali made a move to get closer, but Jace flung the halberd’s blade. It sped through her dress and pinned her deep into the wall. Euphemia jabbed, weapon blurring. Jace weaved a wide berth from her blitzing weapon.

Agrippa was unhindered by the loss of her blade, whirling her new staff in time to her footsteps. Jace ducked away from her and picked up Ruth’s sword. He hefted it, turning it in time to block Euphemia’s thrust. Sparks shot out when the two weapons clashed. Shocks travelled up Jace’s borrowed blade, making his arms quiver. He gripped the claymore with both hands, bringing it down on Euphemia’s rod. She blocked and parried. 

Jace and Euphemia circled each other, racing tightly together. Sparks exploding into showers as they slammed their weapons together. Agrippa kept a slower pace around them, unable to intercede. The two blurred together. Jace swung down, Euphemia up. Thin crackling lines danced through the electrum wire and Jace’s claymore steamed. They hit, thunderclaps ringing throughout the courtyard. Euphemia pushed but Jace bore down with planted feet. His hair crackled. Jace gritted his teeth, gums pink against clenched incisors. He pushed harder against the rod until it was flung from Euphemia’s hands. His claymore broke in half, the length of the blade and landing in the shadows of the courtyard. Jace was left with nothing but the hilt and five inches of blade, ends jagged, gleaming with malice. 

Vitali freed herself as Fatima, Cassandra, and Ruth staggered to their feet. Agrippa twirled her staff. The six advanced on Jace, forming a circle with him in the center. Jace shifted his feet and extended the sword as far as his arms would allow. He exhaled slowly, shoulders still and relaxed against the tenseness of the women. He knew their plan before they did. Without looking at each other, they moved as one in a momentous rush. 

“Hold!”

The women froze on command and as did Jace against his will. He kept one eye trained on them and the other in the direction of the voice. A woman in a white dress stood on the balcony, Tessa beside her. The women below were still tense but attentive to the women above them. Jace lowered his weapon. The woman’s eyes burned and Jace could have sworn he saw her marks move.

“Leave him be.” To Jace she said, “You come with me.”

She gestured below her and Jace followed her hands. The balcony to find a staircase hidden in the shadows. Jace hummed as he walked up them. Their spiral dizzying. Tessa and the other women met her at the top. She spoke without preamble.  
“You are very fortunate to have been in the company of a reaper, otherwise I would have let my girls kill you.”

“That would have been an interesting exercise, Sister…?”

“Cleophas.”

Cleophas led them to a small room, its door cracked open by an inch. She rapped softly on it before entering. 

“She has come.” Cleophas said.

She ushered them in and Jace saw that it was a bedroom. An old wooden four poster bed in the center, its gossamer curtains pulled back to reveal an old woman in the bed. A nightstand on the right and a book shelf on the left. Above the canopy was a simple chandelier, its light dim and candles worn down to the stubs. Below, the old woman tried to sit up. Cleophas moved to her side, rearranging the pillows to prop the old woman up. 

She took a shuddery breath and smiled. Jace was struck by her calm. The orange of her eyes were softer than that of Cleophas but they were incredibly clear. She actually had laugh lines. Veins were thick and blue against her pale skin. Jace suggested she had to be at least eighty. Her long white hair was braided and lay on her shoulder.

“I’ve been expecting you.” She said to Tessa. To Jace she gave a breathy chuckle. “Although you not so much. I admit I never thought I’d see another shadowhunter again after the fall of Idris.” She gave Tessa another look. “You being there proves that. Cleophas.”

Cleophas went to the nightstand and picked up a box that rested on it. Tessa moved to the old woman’s side with such a look of affection that Jace had trouble swallowing. Tessa leaned down, smoothing out the white hair. The old woman continued speaking. 

“Cleophas as you knew as well as we all know; this will be the last generation of Iron Sisters. The age of the Nephilim is over. Please see that these two will have everything they need.” She addressed Jace directly. “Young man, you have all the weapons you’ll ever need.” She regarded Tessa. “I’m ready now.” 

The reaper stroked her cheek and for a second the old woman’s face was smooth and unlined again. She smiled in a slow soft way as she gave one last exhale, eyes fluttering shut. Her hands clasped in front of her chest. Her head tilted to Tessa, hair softly curling around her pale throat. Tessa knelt down to kiss her forehead, a soft light beginning to shine. He caught glimpses of Tessa’s face. It looked as severe as the old woman’s. Her eyes closed as the light got brighter and nearer. It illuminated Tessa perfectly. Every strand of black hair. Shone face symmetrical and soft. Feather duster eyes lowering, encasing eyes. A strange ache overcame him and his feet stayed fixed on the floor, no matter how he thought otherwise. 

Jace had to look away. The light beginning to fade. The old woman was dead. Cleophas bowed her head and planted a quick kiss to her hands. When she stared back up, her expression was firm. Sister Cleophas thrusted the box at Tessa. 

“Yours by right.” She said.

Tessa lifted the lid off the box and pulled out a small plain scythe. Jace tilted his head.

‘Huh.’ 

Tessa held the scythe in one hand as she put the lid back on the box and gave it back to Cleophas. The sister bowed and then gestured to the door.

“This time, leave out the front door.”  
____________________________________________________________________________

Crowley’s backyard was unchanged and neither was the overcast sky. Jace blinked; the demon was nowhere to be seen but Jace turned to Tessa. 

“Why’d you take us back here?”

“I didn’t, I-”

“I did.”

Crowley stood in front of them and began to slow clap. 

“No that was all me handsome. Stellar work with the scythe by the way.”

Jace opened his mouth but Crowley raised a finger, tutting. 

“Allow me to take it off your hands.”

He snapped his fingers and Tessa dropped the scythe with a hiss of pain. It tumbled down into the grass with a thump. Crowley picked it up, ignoring Tessa and Jace’s struggles to move their feet. He held it up, whistling. 

“Would you look at the craftsmanship.” He stared at the two. “Trick or treat.”

With that, he disappeared without a trace. Whatever kept them frozen in place lifted. Tessa shifted her legs as Jace circle the yard. The demon was gone. He went back to Tessa, shrugging at her glare.

“Oh don’t look at me like this was a surprise.” Jace said. 

She huffed in response, about to turn around when he grabbed her shoulder, voice sober.

“I died didn’t I? I died and you came for me. It was my time and you were cheated. But now…now it’s about balance. Look kill me, don’t kill me but let me set this straight before I do. My-my family is dead. His throat worked, Adam’s apple straining and his voice was grating, even to his ears. “Alive or dead Clary would want me to live. I don’t know how-doesn’t even matter-but I’m alive because of her. It’s always because of her, always will be. Everything’s different now. I’m coming with you. We’ll find the scythe. Put a stop to the devil. Do my job before I do something else-go with you. You call the shots. I trust you enough to do that. Please let me. Trust me.” 

Tessa appeared blank faced but Jace realized it was her expression when she was thinking something over. Eyes moving back and forth, mouth set. Slowly she nodded.

“My rules, my way. I won’t put up with your stubbornness. I’m not a babysitter.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“We’ll see.”

Her smile was faint and Jace was surprised. Not only by how well it fit her face, but how welcome it was. Without another word she left the yard and Jace had to hurry to catch her. He allowed himself one quick glance above. As the grey clouds pulled back, he spied the faintest glimpses of the stars beginning to emerge.  
_____________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	17. Thunder in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own either series.  
> Warnings: racism, hate speech, violence, and one sex scene between consenting adults with an age gap.  
> Words: 9,194  
> Enjoy!

Shouts overtook his ears and he scanned the stalls filled with patrons the milled and rushed. Magnus shifted his weight, letting his umbrella lean on his shoulder. Rain Drizzled on his hair. Magnus couldn’t feel the heat of the crowd despite their press and no one gave him a second glance. Grey clouds kept his vision unimpeded as he browsed the farmer’s market. He went past a booth displaying a bed of peonies and inspected baskets of eggs. A card declared them to be from free-range chickens on health conscious diets. Magnus picked up an egg Magnus stated at the pale shells, slight brown spotting along the bottom. The egg was firm in his hands. He bought half a dozen. He smiled at the female vendor and she winked in return. Drizzle chilled his nape and he smiled.

Lettuce, tomatoes, and squash gleamed from the droplets. Their crispness made his mouth water, so he bought a few of the former and some carrots. Magnus moved a few stalls away, past a row of spices. He glanced quickly at them and found some he liked. Paprika, garlic, and saffron. He swung down to the vendors selling meat. Flyers proudly proclaimed that their beef, chicken, and pork were all organic and raised with care. The packaging was the pale white butchers paper with a saran wrap covering. A circular sticker with a logo of a grinning cartoon cow in the middle held it together. The cut of the meat was written in black sharpie.

Steak sounded good. Magnus reached for a thick package at the same time another set of fingers brushed his. They pulled back simultaneously. Magnus cocked his head to the side, to get a better look at the stranger. A tall and tan man with a wryness that could become broader given time. He had to be at least in his mid-twenties. He had studs in his ears and scars about his arms. He had thick black hair that was cut short. He had golden brown eyes that held a hint of wilderness to them. A bit of electricity seemed to go through his hands and Magnus smiled. A werewolf. Said werewolf grinned at him and gave him a brief wink as he clicked his teeth.

"Hey it's all yours. Call it a freebie for a fellow."

"Much obliged."

"Hey anything for the High Warlock of Brooklyn."

"So you know who I am? Well it's not mutual, but thanks anyway."

The werewolf laughed. "Thank me all you want. Name's Quinn MacIntyre."

"Magnus Bane but you probably knew that already."

"Very true."

Magnus paid for his steak and turned to leave, but Quinn placed a tattooed hand on his shoulder. Sanskrit –like inked all along his wrists and palms. Magnus raised an eyebrow as Quinn tipped an imaginary hat.

“Now, know this, this is London. My city. Your city. We’ve been given it back and now we have to fight to keep it. I know you can help. Hell, this was your city back in the day.”

“Lots of places used to be my city.”

Quinn jerked his head to a park. A modest playground with chattering kids running and crawling about on brightly colored plastic. Magnus shifted his parcels into one bag, wrapping it around his hand and letting it dangle. He walked abreast Quinn, the warmth of the other man bleeding into his shoulders. They walked past the gate enclosing the park, swinging its door open and sitting down on a vacant bench.

Yellow leaves burned against the grey sky, framing their heads. Quinn leaned back, arms resting against the top of the bench. His head tilted up to the sky, thick column of a neck revealing a prominent Adam’s apple. Eyes gleamed as his gaze stayed fixed. Magnus kept his back straight, but he kept his knees close to Quinn’s. Both men were silent as children played. It stayed that way for a while.

“You know, this is my favorite place to go.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Quinn nodded. “Look at them. Not a care in the world. It makes me think that it should be that way for every kid. I could take one of our own here.”

“Not yet, I take it?”

“No, not yet,”

Magnus sighed. “Let me guess. I can make it happen easier and faster.”

“Your words not mine.” Quinn laughed. “Seriously mate, we all need to help each other. Especially now with the Shadowhunters being gone.”

“Shadowhunters kept the peace. Not well mind you, but kept it they did.”

Quinn shrugged. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree. They’re gone now and we have to protect ourselves.”

“True enough but I have a feeling that we’ll have to agree to disagree on the count of how to protect ourselves.”

Quinn stayed silent, unwinded himself in long slow way. He pursed his lips, nodding slowly. He finally turned to Magnus, giving him a long stare. Magnus stared back. Gold eyes flashed, pupils turned to slits. Quinn cleared his throat as he stood up. His voice was a bit more reserved when he next spoke, but he kept his smile up.

“Ok I understand. Just let me know when you change your mind.”

Quinn walked off, hands in his pockets as he strode off without a word. He glanced at the kids hanging from the monkey bars, smile spasming over his face before it disappeared. He went on his way. Magnus waited until the werewolf was completely out of his view before leaving the park.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The world was small, as seen through a narrow tube and bleached of all color. Overcast London was familiar t him when seen through windows. Alec peered out, people watching. He could pick out faces from the crowds. The businessmen with their graceful jogs, trying to keep their suits unwrinkled. Bikers and joggers inside a runner’s high of sweat, sneakers and headphones. Mothers piled kids out of vans, shepherding unruly children that were already rumpled at the beginning of the day. People desperately keeping eyes open by thermos’s of coffee.

Tourists milled about, camera’s flashing. Women in what he guessed were expensive clothes. Elaborate pumps, pencil skirts, and bright scarves. They hurried past whistles and stares, dodging into small boutiques. Skyscrapers, not quite like New York City, but he knew a skyscraper when he saw one. The homeless hid in the shadows of doorway; some bummed cigarettes or sandwiches. Red double deckers drove past, vibrant color attacking his eyes. If Alec tilted his head right, Admiral Lord Nelson glowered up at him. Alec shied away from the mundane’s judgmental gaze.

Camille insisted, short of shoving them inside and locking the door behind her. Her flat was an artist’s loft above Trafalgar square. Small and spacious, Alec had the feeling she didn’t come here often. There was a speck of dust in sight but it didn’t come with a lived in vibe. The living room and kitchen shared space with only a single counter to announce the kitchen’s presence. Bar stools stood next to the outside counter. Sliding glass doors revealed a balcony that was farther along the end of the space. A bedroom rested on the left hand side; pristine porcelain bathroom nestled inside, a tub on the right with gold taps and complex showerhead.

A reprint of a Norman Rockwell hung above the toilet. Back in the living room, a mini-loft space above and a bit to the back. The stairs that led to it was next to the front and only door. The openness of the wall was covered by an absolutely huge reprint of Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm. Alec was still wondering why mundanes considered violent paint splatterings to be art. But when Magnus through the front door, arms full of groceries, and he walked beneath the painting and something in Alec clenched. Magnus hadn’t noticed Alec’s stare. He shook out his damp hair, colors somehow brighter when he did so.

“Amazing weather.” He gave a little laugh. “Nothing gets the English down. Nor rain nor shine nor overpriced farmer’s markets.”

He set the groceries down on the counter and pulled an apple out from the top of the bag. Magnus smiled at Alec, winking as he rubbed on the front of his shirt. Magnus took a bite. Alec flinched at the crisp snapping sound of the bite. Magnus took a huge chunk out of the fruit, a piece of it poking out of his mouth. The redness of the skin bold against the pale apple flesh. Juice sprayed out, dripping down his mouth and chin. It glossed Magnus’s lips. Magnus swallowed in rapid eager crunches. His Adam’s apple moved up and down. It swooped up and down smoothly beneath the skin. It fit seamlessly with the rest of Magnus’s throat, smooth lines shivering as the warlock swallowed. Alec stared, his insides going curiously dry. His teeth clench, spit oddly sweet in his mouth. Blinking rapidly, he watched Magnus take bite after bite. Magnus raised an eyebrow as he slurped on the apple core. A wave of dizziness came over Alec and something must have shone through on his face because Magnus frowned and stared to make his way over to Alec.

He shook his head and Magnus swallowed, his movements aborted and he turned to the counter and began unpack the groceries. Alec stared for a moment before helping. He grabbed a jug of milk from Magnus’s hands, ignoring the way his chest shuddered when their fingers brushed against each other. As Alec bent down, head peering into the fridge and unable to see Magnus’s face he finally spoke.

“…So how goes it?” he cringed. “I mean…well what’s it like out there?”

Alec sensed Magnus stiffen a moment before relaxing.

“It’s going.” He gave a sharp chuckle. “Going someplace that’s for sure.”

“I’m sure I could be a good judge for that.”

“Alec…”

Magnus sighed and Alec scowled. His shoulders got tight to match the squirming in his guts. It wasn’t like preparing for a battle; at first it seemed that way but now something different seemed to crawl into him and heat up his insides. There was no focus to it, no life or death hum of dread to block out distractions. He was aware and aware that his words were weapons that he wasn’t capable of fully using. If he wasn’t careful the wrong ones would spill out of him. Magnus put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. He turned around to glare and found his heart wasn’t it. His expression must have been a strange one. Magnus tightened his grip with a set expression. It looked far too serious on him, a grim line to his lips and the yellow in his eyes seemed to stand out even more. Alec wanted to lean forward, into Magnus’s chest, but something in him rebelled and he disentangled himself from Magnus.

“I’m going upstairs.”

Magnus stepped back and moved closer to the kitchen counter.

“I’ll start dinner.”

Alec made an affirmative grunt as he made his way up the familiar stairs and loft. He entered the master bedroom, sheets still rumpled. Magnus and Alec took turns sleeping in the bed. The pull out couch downstairs worked just as well and to Alec was more comfy. He stared at the bed, shuddering. Camille used to lie there. Granted, the sheets were pristine and crisp but the idea of her lounging in night clothes, rubbing her legs together underneath the silk fabric turned his stomach. Her blond hair fanned out on her pillows.

Her dressers were still littered with expensive girly things. Perfume bottles with classy cuts, some looked like antiques, with the slim tubes connecting to squeezy puffs. Cases of make up with a faint settling of dust. He could taste the expensiveness but what caught his eye was the strange tube.

It was clean, almost to a shine. Not even fingerprints on its glass surface. A green ribbon with silver threading still wrapped around the ornate stopper. It took him a moment to realize that the wrap around clasp on the stopper could double as a ring. As for the tube itself it had two thin layers. He peered into it. One was more opaque than the other. He frowned; he’d seen this before. Trick glass. Someone could pour something into the vial and the second piece of glass obscured the liquid, giving the illusion that the vial was empty. Alec picked it up, turning it over and over, the ribbon catching on his fingers and the thread glittered out sewn initials.

‘M.B to C.B’

Alec clenched his teeth hard enough for his head to ache as his fingers tightened around the vial. He raised up his arm, swinging up and about to throw when he stated up at the mirror that hung above the bed. He stared at himself. Eyes darker than normal, physically fine. Maybe a bit slimmer, but all of his muscles still worked. Hair a few inches to ragged. He slowly lowered his arm and stared at himself. Until the sky grew dark.

Dinner was silent. The juices from the streak popped in Alec’s mouth. He took the knife in his fingers. The metal cooling his fingers and his heart; he speared the meat with his fork and sawed at the cut in deep swipes. Magnus sipped at his glass, slight smile on his face, half hidden by the rim of his glass. Alec stopped mid motion, silverware clattering onto his plate.

“What?”

“Something on your mind?”

Alec shivered. The chills were back and his shoulders stiff and ached with the effort of keeping them that way. He avoided Magnus’s stare, unwilling to look into his eyes for what expression he would find on the warlock’s face. Alec studied the patterns in the tablecloth, tracing the vines with one finger. The warlock’s eyes heavy on Alec and he swallowed. He put his hand in his pocket, the vial slippery inside his fist. He pulled it out and set the glass onto the table. Alec gave a deep breath through his nose and forced himself to stare back at Magnus. When he spoke, his voice held a touch of frost.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

Magnus stared at the vial and then back up to Alec. He frowned at it, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. Alec sucked in a breath as Magnus shrugged, dropping the vial onto the table. It spun, glass giving a tinny echo. With each rotation of the vial, Alec’s breath hitched. He had to release all that air. Magnus stopped the glass’s movement with his index finger. Alec exhaled in one great burst, overcome with dizziness.

“An old gift to Camille. What of it?”

“What of it?” Alec sputtered. “It was on her dresser. Out in the open.”

“Yet the ribbon was still tied to it and not as much a fingerprint.”

Alec scoffed. “Please”

Magnus’s eyes flashed, yellow shining bright in his face. They narrowed in his head. An entire expression spasmed over his face, it tightened his skin about the eyes and mouth. His lips twitched as if they were trying to slacken and the emotion on that was riding on his face.

Alec resisted the urge to yank away from the table, letting his chair clatter behind him. Some deep instinct in him told him doing so would be worse than the vial. He leaned back in his chair and flattened his palms onto the table. Alec willed himself not to tremble.

“Please.”

Magnus slumped, closing his eyes. He spread his hands, palms upward. Alec swallowed and when Magnus’s eyes opened, the world shook.

“I loved her once, yes I did.” His voice was soft. “When I was young. Well, younger I met her and to me, back then, she was one of the most beautiful things I had seen. She was ruthless, clever, and a survivor. I liked that. To be beholden to no one but yourself. That suited me just fine. So it worked well for us.” Magnus sipped his water. “But situations change, people change. I changed. She didn’t. I thought that would be enough for me.” His lips twisted. “Turns out it wasn’t. The more I tried to please her; the more she had resented me. It became part of a cycle for us. To hurt for the sake of it-so we could prove out independence and pretend we meant nothing to each other. We fought just so we could make up. Then she grew tired of me and I realized what that meant to me.”

“Oh.” Alec trembled.

“Oh.”

Alec flushed. Spine trembled as cold sweat poured over his skin. His limbs slack against his better judgment. Spit coated his throat, thick like a lodged blade. He swallowed and it hurt.

“I-I just thought-” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that-”

“That what? I’m over seven hundred years old Alec. I’m entitled to love other people.”

Alec looked down at his plate. They juices in his steak congealed. The pieces of steak half cut. His vision blurred as he stared at soggy potatoes. Alec quivered, blood rushing in his ears. The buzzing made him dizzy, to the point that he was shaking. His perfect vision noted Magnus standing up, chair scraping. Alec didn’t look up, jumping when Magnus’s hand descended on his shoulder. It didn’t stay there. His shoulder stilled, sweat dampening there. The air hovered between shoulder and hand. Alec’s jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry.” Magnus’s voice was strange to his ears. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Alec stood up. His head came to Magnus’s shoulder. He figured he could hear the warlock’s heartbeat.

Magnus sighed. “I want to respect your space, but-”

“But what? Don’t you trust me?”

Magnus sucked in a breath. Hand trembling above and Alec felt the color drain from his face.

“It’s…not that I don’t trust you. It’s the world.” He continued. “By now everyone knows the Valentine destroyed Idris and the shadowhunters. Now there there’s nothing to stop them from doing what they want. There is no one to control them or take away their freedom.”

“Freedom?”

“Yes freedom. That’s what’s been taken from them by the Nephilim. The age of Nephilim is over and the age of the downworlders has begun and nothing can stop it in their minds.”

“What does-”

“Alexander.”

“Alec.”

“Alec. If they find you what do you think they will do to you?”

“Still. Let me go. Out. Let me go out.” Alec shook.

“I’m not trying to control you, I just want to…protect you…even if I have to keep you in here.”

“No.” Alec moved closer. “Trust my judgment. Please.”

Magnus shut his eyes. “I can’t stop you can I?”

“No.”

Alec brushed past Magnus, shuddering at the slight touch of limbs.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
The drizzle chilled the sweat on his nape on arms. He found himself running through the square. Heart pounding inside him, providing blood through his limbs as lungs filled with air. His legs knew exactly where to take him. Alec weaved his way through crowds. Music blasted from car speakers and shops. Vendors for food; his mouth watered, but he kept moving. Alec headed for the institute.

He ducked through a side street, boots splashing into puddles splashing his knees. The institute’s spire shot up, glass, mosaic like a beacon. No light shone through them but the angel’s wings were bright to his eyes against bleak skies. Alec looked up and shivered.

A howl rose up, spiraling up to the sharp towers of the institute. Another one and another until it was a full chorus. Werewolves.

A flash of heat made him freeze in place. Snatches of laughter brought him back to movement. Alec dashed to the end of the walkway, turning into the corner to an alleyway. Peeking round’ the corner. A whole pack of werewolves. One woman threw her head back and laughed. Her teeth flashed. A vampire. Many of them. Few fae and some warlocks.

They made a game of breaking the windows and dodging the falling glass. Alec gritted his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl. A flung bottle missed its mark and Alec ducked. He peered around the corner. A woman’s teeth flashed as she laughed. Alec frowned. Upon closer inspection, the group was even larger than he thought. He ducked down out of sight and made a move to slide back. His heel hit an empty can. It rolled over glass and smacked a dumpster with a tinny clang.

Alec hissed and a werewolf hoisted Alec over his shoulder; sweat, meat, and chewing tobacco overpowered him. Thrashing his legs connected with the shoulders and the soles of his feet smashing into faces. One yielded, their nose breaking in a satisfying crunch. Alec’s curse transforming into a yelp as hands wrapped around his neck. He gasped. The hot acrid breath of the werewolf clouded in his ear. Alec’s face twisting but he could no longer move his head. The clouds above him spun.

The stranglehold lessened and Alec gasped. Limp in the werewolf’s arms, Alec’s eyes swiveled. He was being carried to the steps of the institute. The werewolf dropped him to the ground. Alec gritted his teeth; incisors grinding in uneven jolts as he failed to brace at the impact.

Fae jeered, their sharp pointed faces lending to the twist of their mouths. Alec scrambled up to his feet, shifting into a stance. His palms slowly curling into fists before he brought them up by his face. He brought his left leg forward ready to swing it up. Fae shrieked in laughter, drowning out the howls of the surrounding wolves.

“I warn you.” Alec said, “Don’t do this.”

A vampire with dreadlocks chuckled.

“Aww look what it’s saying to us.”

More laughter.

“Not as high up on the food chain, huh?” 

Dreadlocks laughed. He ducked low, dreads flying. Alec kept his fists up closer and swept his leg up high. A glancing blow. Dreadlocks jerked his head to the side. Alec dodged a swipe, countering with a punch of his own. Alec kicked and dreadlocks blocked with his forearm. He grabbed Alec’s ankle, yanking him close to his torso, using his other hand to punch Alec in the face. Alec twisted to escape the pseudo-hold, but another werewolf grabbed him from behind, yanking his arms over his head. He snarled as the angular faced fae leapt up to them and slammed her fists into Alec’s stomach. He doubled over and the three pounced.

He thrashed to no avail, unable to check their blows. Alec covered his head. Trying to move, he peered up to see contorted faces; lips carved upwards to reveal pink gums and sharp teeth.

Alec’s vision shorted in tandem with his hearing, like he was underwater. His own lips pulled back, glaring at the three of them. They hoisted him up by the arms. He groaned. Alec tried not to sag, glowering at the crowd he was made to face. Dreadlocks pinched Alec’s cheek and grabbed his chin by his hand. The crowd laughed and cheered.

A tomato sailed forward, hitting his knees. It burst with a wet ’splurk’. He flinched at the pulpy-ness, damp soaking into the fabric of his pants. He averted his eyes from his knees; something in his gut growing sharp as the stain widened. Spit tasted like salt in his mouth. Someone flung cabbage, hitting his shoulder. It burst apart, green exploding around his face. Alec jerked his head, unable to avoid the brunt of it. Most of  
Alec trembled, staring at the faces in the crowd. Deathly pale or suffused in red. Teeth exposed and far too much of a gleam to them. Spit and sweat around the eyes and mouth. Some laughed as others screamed curses. Alec couldn’t’ hear what they were; so many downworlders crying out at once. A werewolf picked up a rock and flung it at him. It was a midsized stone and it hit him in the sternum. Alec gasped. When he looked back down, all he saw were blurs and shook at the amorphous shrieking mass of downworlders.

Pellets of gravel from the driveways, pebbles and stones moved in with the fruit. Another werewolf found a brick, hefting it and throwing it at Alec. By the time it blurred at him, all he could do was flinch. It slammed into his shoulder. Alec staggered backwards, only helped up by the two men keeping him upright. Gasping, he felt his vision shimmer and go grey. Somewhere in between a slump and a ramrod back, he resembled a weed half-grown. Alec didn’t make a sound even as the crowd began to surge forward. It wasn’t their faces he saw, but their hands. A fae-all he could see were the spines all along the arms and face. Red eyes gleamed back at him and needle sharp teeth overcrowded its mouth. Hands were pushing this fae forward to Alec and in its hands was a lengthy coarse rope.

Alec went boneless, blood draining. He caught a glimpse of his own marked hands, unable to serve him in either magic or defense. Alec wanted to stay straight-backed and look them in the eye; all he could focus on was those hands and how they would feel tightening that rope around his neck. It would bristle about his throat. It felt just how he imagined it to. The porcupine fae wrapped it around Alec, quills prickling Alec’s cheek as the noose was tightened.

The fae gave an experimental tug and Alec’s eyes widened, picturing how they would roll up in his head. Dreadlocks whistled and the porcupine fae laughed, grabbing the end of the rope and threw it over one of the stone archways. The end of the rope peeked over. Sweat stuck to his neck and face. His teeth chattered as Porcupine grabbed the fat rope and tugged.

Alec gasped as his feet scraped up in a single swipe. Hands flying up to his neck. His fingers slippery against the fraying cords. They pricked his fingers, warm blood soaking into the ropes. He gagged, tongue bulged in his mouth, blocking his throat. Alec snarling, trying to inhale deep from his nose. Kicking; knees burning as ankles cracked. Limbs ached, icy shooting pins locking them up as lungs burned and raw scraping neck.

The blending masses paled as his eyes rolled up in his head. Lashes squeezing. Alec gurgled, drool sliding down his chin. His eyes bulged as they struggled to close. Tongue lolling and throat burning.

A blinding flash of blue and heat. Alec groaned; the burn brilliant behind his eyelids. The roped yanked harder. Alec’s head tilted. Heavy-ness inside his throat. A tight stone inside it. Alec’s body clenched for a moment before spasming out of control. He was brought up even higher by the rope until his back arched.

Another shot of blue went past him. The smell of burning meat and hot air whipping his hair. Alec had no warning as he was dropped down, impact shocking him all the way up to his thighs and he buckled, collapsing to the ground. Air rushed into his lungs and he gulped in air. Alec curled in on himself as he scrambled to take off the nooses, retching when he breathed in too fast. Bile filed his nose, snorting as fleck of spittle and sputum flecked his hands.

Alec kept gulping lungful’s of air. Boots blurry in his vision, approached him and he wobbled up to his feet, almost falling back down when the vertigo hit. Porcupine’s eyes darted back and forth between him and-

“Magnus?” Alec rasped, before going into a hacking fit.

The warlock spared him a glance. His brows were furrowed, but that didn’t help Alec figure out what Magnus’s expression was. His eyes blurred, wetness streaking down his face but he made no attempt to wipe them away. He glared at Porcupine and Dreadlocks and watched as their faces twisted into snarls, advancing towards him. As was Magnus, the crowd parting as he made his way up to Alec on the stone steps. The stride of the warlock made him tremble. Blue electricity sparked over and around Magnus’s fingers like over eager hounds around their master’s feet. They hummed in a way that rattled Alec’s chest. He made his way to stand beside Alec.

“That is enough.”

Porcupine and Dreadlocks snarled out words but Alec couldn’t catch it, the words too fast and garbled. Alec frowned, swaying into a stance. Something moved, felt more than seen. Someone moved, shadows shifting as they moved from behind a gargoyle and dropped down a spire. A broad dusky skinned man landed down onto the steps. Pavement shuddered.

“It’s never enough.”

Magnus sighed. “Quinn.”

Quinn gave a little bow. “At your service mate.”

Alec dropped the noose to the ground with a thump. It made him jump and he could have sworn that he saw Magnus jumped too. Scattered laughter emerged from the crowd. Magnus kept his eyes on Quinn as he edged closer to Alec and kept his voice slow. He spread his hands open, palms out with his magic still sparking.

“If that’s the case then let him go. He’s no threat to you.”

Quinn opened his mouth but it wasn’t his voice; a shout from the crowd drown out what he was about to say. A heavily tattooed vampire screamed, teeth shining as pink-end spit sprayed out.

“Fuck off and die!”

Alec stared at Magnus, who hadn’t reacted but then the words were repeated, this time louder and with more downworlders shouting it. Many stared directly at him. It was him. They were yelling it at him. One threw an onion. It landed at his feet.

“Go back to where you came from!”

Another one shouted, this time a woman. Her friends cheered her as she repeated it. One of her friends standing next to her added her own shout.

“We never wanted you!”

Alec wobbled.

“Go to hell you fucking fuck!”

“Fucking half-breed-”

“-Killed my father-”

A small woman with tears in her purple eyes edged to where Alec stood. Her lips trembled, expression fixing him in place. Her pale skin shimmered somehow, veins bright beneath her skin. He couldn’t move for her gaze. She was a young warlock. Her eyes went hard as she looked up at him.

“Fuck you inkback.”

She spat on him. The wetness of the glob splattered on his face and he flinched. She turned around and walked away without a word. She folded back into the mass and Alec trembled. Voices jumbled together into one incohesive screaming; he could only catch snatches of individual voices until they would get caught back up into the group again.

“Arrogant cunt!”

“-of a bitch!”

Alec turned, insides trembling as he had to look at Magnus. He met the warlock’s gaze. He held universes in those eyes-in that moment that didn’t feel like a moment. Alec’s mind went quiet, only a phrase drowning out the rest of his surroundings to a vague numbness that that he could observe with a detached fear.

‘Hail and farewell.’

Alec knew that Magnus was speaking; it was why he turned his head. Magnus was speaking to the downworlders now, his voice rang out. It crackled like the sparks of magic on his fingertips. An errant spark brushed Alec’s hand and it jolted him to clarity. His heart leaping in great bounds to free itself as Magnus’s words reached his ears.

“-Look at yourselves. Beating a boy with no weapons or family. Nothing to call his own. You can’t take anything from him. So you will gain nothing from him. Nothing but prove the Nephilim’s point that you deserve to be controlled. You deserve it-”

“Jonathan Shadowhunter was an angel cocksucker. He sucked the angel’s cock and saw fit to beat us. Killed our people, stole our homes, our lives-and expected us to smile and say thanks. Well I say no more! Karma’s a bitch, bitch!”

Quinn grabbed Alec, hands burning into his shoulders with the veins bulging up to the knuckles. Alec stared at them. The scars on those huge knuckles keeping him transfixed. Quinn tensed and the movement in his muscles moved from his wrist to the shoulder. His grip tightened and Alec found himself fixed in place. Quinn’s smile made all of Alec’s instincts scream.

Magnus’s hand descended on Quinn’s wrist and held fast. His lips barely sheathed the rest of his mouth, eyes wide and shining like pits in his face. His entire frame stiff, muscles jumping time with his magic and when he next spoke his voice was soft.

“…Fine. The Nephilim are dead but hunters are not. They will find you and they will kill you. Mark my words.”

Laughter rang out among mixed jeers and boos.

“We’re not afraid of hunters. They don’t even know where to look.”

“…Suit yourself.”

Magnus fixed Quinn with a look Alec was glad wasn’t directed at him. It would have vaporized him on the spot if it had. Magnus pulled Quinn’s hands off Alec’s shoulders with a kind of tightness that made Alec realize that he was moving with deliberate slowness. Once Quinn’s hands were removed the werewolf back slowly away, a slow smile creeping onto his face while his eyes stayed cold. He moved backwards, not taking his eyes off Magnus. He went to the institute’s doors. Quinn’s handle lingered on the handle of the doors.

“Alright…to each their own.”

Magnus nodded, turning around to scoop up Alec and stride down the steps. The downworlders cleared a path as Alec craned his head in time to see Quinn shove institute’s doors open.

“Have at it gents!”

The downworlders cheered and swarmed past Magnus and Alec, shoving their way inside. Some shoved into Magnus without a backward glance. Alec fought the urge to be sick as downworlders swarmed inside the foyer of the institute. His last glimpse of institute was the chandelier being pulled apart. Alec’s eyes shut tight but the bright light of the chandelier shattering into thousands of pieces was seared into his soul.  
_____________________________________________________________________________  
Alec’s body floated in Magnus’s arms; a soft buzzing permeating his body as his mind seemed to drift between sharp clarity and fuzzy out focus. Like a camera lens that couldn’t keep its setting. Arms the felt heated to his shot-through nerves. Eyes rolling in their sockets with ease; the moon was swollen in the window, ripe and juicy enough to it. Its light streaming through the windows before being obscured again by the thunderclouds. Lightening streaked through the sky.

Magnus was murmuring something as they ascended the stairs. The way his feet padded up the stairs made his heart soften into nervous flutters. Little keening noises rattled around his ears and it took him a moment to realize that they belonged to him. Alec burrowed half his face into Magnus’s chest, but kept an eye open to the soft light that slid into the room. His gut twisted as dread crept in at the sight of the empty downstairs. Magnus led them to Camille’s master bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Magnus set Alec down and disappeared down stairs, returning a moment later with bowl of water in his hands. A pair of towels and pajamas under one arm and a first aid kit under the other. Magnus set the towels and pajamas on the bed next to Alec, the first aid kit and the bowl on the ground by Alec’s feet. Alec wordlessly shifted in his seat, undressing down to his boxers. He looked down at his bruises. They bloomed like flowers all across his torso. He knew they formed a burning ring around his neck. The coppery tang of dried blood flaked around his mouth. Alec flinched at the soft cool towel that dabbed at the side of his face. 

“Sorry.” Magnus pulled out a small vial from the kit. “This’ll sting.”

Alec sucked in a breath, tears prickling at his eyes. His shoulders sagged as Magnus continued to stroke at the cuts. His long slim fingers prodded at Alec’s nose. Alec blinked rapidly. The pads of Magnus’s fingers were cool around the slope of his nose, almost ticklish.

“Well at least it’s not broken.” Magnus’s hands moved away from Alec’s face. “Hold still. They may have broken something.”

Alec nodded as Magnus’s hands roved down to the shoulders. Alec shivered as Magnus patched up his cuts, fingertips leaving trails of hot-cold trembling down his chest. When he breathed in, he could feel that same sensation settle heavy in his lungs. If he moved too fast he may break. Alec took a sharp breath. Sharp to the point that it hurt his throat, slicing down his lungs with a powerful keen. Magnus looked up at him.

“I know it hurts.” He pressed down on Alec’s chest. “You may have bruised your ribs.”

“No.” Alec rasped. “No…”

Magnus dropped down to Alec’s knees, moving down to his feet. Alec watched, mesmerized as Magnus dipped a portion of the towel in warm water and began to wash his feet. Alec’s breath hitched when Magnus rubbed the arch of his feet. The muscles tensed, cramped up for a moment but then became pliant under Magnus’s ministrations. Alec wanted to lean back, but couldn’t. The sight of Magus kneeled was craving through his stomach as some kind of calm-tenseness was settling over him.

Alec knew what was happening, as though he skipped ahead to the next scene and found it pleasing. He shuddered as Magnus kneaded his toes. Alec swallowed heavily as what should have been obvious beforehand was now announcing itself to Alec. He sighed, back still ramrod straight as Magnus moved to his other foot. Alec made no move to put on the pajamas, even as Magnus began to stand up.

Magnus turned over the covers and put a hand on Alec’s shoulder, pushing him back down on the bed. Magnus slipped back, but Alec snatched his wrist. A haze had come over him and he tugged at Magnus’s arm. Alec wasn’t sure what his expression looked like but Magnus was giving him a wary glance. Alec swallowed heavily, lids heavy as he leaned forward. In the warlock’s voice was a warning.

“Alec…”

“What?” he whispered.

“This isn’t the place…you’re grieving.”

“So-I can always grieve.”

Alec tried to pull himself up and Magnus down at the same time. He wobbled and Magnus slipped, catching himself on the bed. His arms a loose cage about Alec, and he made a move to get up, but Alec grabbed his arms again.

“I’m sorry.” He gasped. “Please I’m sorry-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorr-”

“Alec. Alec it’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes. Yes it was.” He forced his teeth to unclench out the words. “If I had been braver. I should have said something. I should have said how much you meant to me. I’m sorry you never had a chance to be accepted by my parents. To be given a change…to give them a chance. I’m sorry you had to deal with me-with my cowardice. Now we’ll never know and now you’ve stood up for me. You’ve made yourself an enemy. All of that for me and I-”

Magnus kissed him. Alec’s squeak of surprise morphed into a small mewl. Magnus had never kissed him like this. His lips deft and hard in their pressing. Alec’s guts swooped at the soft flesh against his own so insistent next to him. Magnus’s tongue giving a curious sweep. Alec opened his mouth wider with a little cry. Magnus was shaking and Alec scooted farther on the bed to let Magnus rest his weight and not fall off the edge.

Alec grabbed Magnus’s shoulders as he pulled back for air. Magnus buried his face in the crook of Alec’s shoulder, biting and sucking at the pulse point right at the thumping vein. Magnus, blew on the wet spot he had just made. The trail of moisture cooling at Alec’s nape. Magnus left a string of kisses along Alec’s rope burns. The heat of it caused Alec to arch up. He scrabbled at Magnus’s clothes, whining when his fingers fumbled with the buttons. Magnus laughed.

“Easy. I’m not going anywhere.” He gave another soft laugh. “Here I’ll do it.”

Magnus leaned back, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off. Alec bit his lip at the sight of Magnus’s undershirt. A rumpled white wife-beater. It was soft under Alec’s touch. A hint of hips peeked through. Alec’s mouth watered. Alec slipped his fingers beneath the shirt, rubbing circular motions on Magnus’s stomach. There was no belly button but there were taunt muscles that moved with each breath the warlock took.

Alec watched Magnus swallow had as Alec dropped his hand down lower to the waistband of Magnus’s jeans, unbuttoning them. Alec flushed at the sight of boxers peeking through but he powered on. Magnus pulled off his shirt as Alec set to work on the pants. Alec started giggling.

“What? Do you want to stop?”

“N-no. No no no.” He giggled harder. “A little late for that.”

“Glad you see it that way.”

Magnus grabbed the pants away from Alec, the legs tangling around each other’s arms as they tried to toss the fabric over the bed’s edge. Alec leaned against Magnus, laughing as the pants brushed past Magnus’s shoulder and flopped to the edge of the bed. Magnus nuzzled Alec’s cheek, directing him back to Magnus’s lips and they were kissing again. Alec cupped the sides of Magus’s face, letting his tongue slip inside Magnus’s mouth. Magnus’s voice went into a deeper register, groaning. He pulled back to look Alec in the face. His eyes had a shimmer to them that gave Alec chills. His smile was slow and syrupy on his mouth.

“Are you sure you want this? We don’t have to doing anything you don’t want to. I’m fine with just-”

“Shut up and get over here.”

“Alec-”

“I love you too, but get over here now.”

Magnus laughed. “Yes sir.”

“That’s right.”

Alec’s laugh didn’t stop even as Magnus went back to him, only transitioning to moans as Magnus grinded against him. Magnus pressed Alec against the headboard. Alec spread his legs farther apart and Magnus’s hips moved in between them as the two sunk down from the headboard. 

Green-yellow eyes stared back at Alec with an unquestioning affection. Alec’s head swam as Magnus grabbed Alec’s knees and slid the shadowhunter beneath him. Alec arched up to meet him, shivering in his stomach as Magnus kissed his shoulders. Biting his lip, Alec breathed in through his nose, eyelids fluttering as Magnus’s hands roved all over him. He gasped when Magnus bit his earlobes.

Alec swallowed heavily, his throat working in such a way that made him aware of what was happening in a way that words never could. Tongue leaden inside his mouth, waiting for Magnus to lighten it. The part of his mind that would be buzzing a constant stream of thoughts muted as sensations came to him unfiltered. It made him unclench his teeth and let out the noise building inside him.

Magnus shifted his weight and Alec moaned, parting his legs. Alec’s hands came to life, grabbing at Magnus, pulling him down closer. No more boundaries as Alec whined through his teeth, flushing at the sound. Magnus huffed out a laugh. Alec’s skin crackled at the warlock’s touch, cool air settling on Alec’s nipples.

“Cut it out.” Alec said. “I need…”

“Yes?”

“…You…” Alec’s lips trembled. “Now hurry up.”

“So bossy.”

“Yeah…yeah I am.”

Magnus nuzzled into Alec’s chest, nipping at Alec’s belly button. Alec snapped his mouth, teeth clicking as he hissed and his nails pinched at Magnus’s back.

“I like this side of you.”

In response, Alec’s fingernails scraped at Magnus’s back and he was rewarded with a subdued sigh. Magnus bit down, teeth scraping at the inside of Alec’s thighs. Alec concentrated his gaze on Magnus’s head as the warlock moved lower. The blue streaks in his black hair shimmered and danced as Magnus moved up and down. Alec gave another whine as trembling shoots of energy went from his abdomen up to his scalp. Alec’s breath came faster. He was vaguely aware that Magnus was breathing in much the same way.

Magnus’s slick spit enveloped his shaft. Alec looked down, heart stuttering as he caught a glimpse of Magnus’s cheeks puffing out air, a flush along his neck, and the way his hair was wild in every direction. Alec shifted, sitting up.

“Wait, wait.” He panted.

Magnus stilled. He looked back up at Alec with his eyes alone. The warlock pulled his shoulders back a little, and Alec smiled at the attentiveness. He cleared his throat.

“I-I’m not going to last much longer if you keep doing that. So…do…” he gave a little laugh.

Magnus opened his mouth, letting Alec go with a wet little ‘pop’ and Alec’s guts twisted at the sound. Magnus placed his hands on Alec’s hips as he stared at him between Alec’s legs. His blush going all the way down to his shoulders It made his eyes stand out even more.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Well…”

“Rather, where would you like me to be?”

“…Inside.” Alec mumbled.

Magnus stilled a moment then nodded. He pressed his fingers harder into Alec’s hipbones and Alec sucked in a breath. The points or pressure from Magnus’s fingertips burned at the touch. Alec nodded rapidly. He tilted his head in invitation. Magnus’s slow smile made something inside Alec ignite.

Magnus scooted forward until he was nose to nose with Alec. His eyes shuttered down as he took a moment before giving Alec a slow kiss. Magnus’s hand traveled downwards, knuckles grazing down Alec’s navel. Their hip bones were pressed together, appearing merged in the half-light of the storm. Alec felt more than saw Magnus take himself in his hand and shift his weight to adjust himself. Then he lowered himself back down and inside Alec. 

Alec gasped and Magnus began to move. The muscles in Alec’s legs jumped as he began to match pace. Hot-cold sensations shifted over his skin as sweat clung to him. Alec moved faster, panting hard as his muscles spasmed out of control. Magnus grunted as he sank deeper. Alec shut his eyes tight, imaging his nerves bursting in tandem with the rest of him as he arched back up to meet Magnus. He wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist. Alec anchored himself to Magnus as he reached his climax.

Magnus, shuddered next to him for a few minutes before going still. His next movement was so quick that Alec didn’t have time to protest the loss. Magnus settled next to Alex, wrapping his arms around Alec’s slim frame. Alec wriggled next to him, giving a little mewl.

The thunder sounder small to Alec’s ear, the lighting hazy in his vision as the rain pattered above him. Fat droplets splattered against the roof as Alec listened to Magnus’s breathing even out. Alec’s spirit hummed and as Magnus began to speak.

“How was it?”

“…Wow. Just…wow. Why didn’t we do that sooner?”

Magnus’s laugh rumbled like thunder in his ears. Alec rested his head against Magnus’s chest. It made Alec’s toes curl. Magnus stroked Alec’s hair, scalp tingling. He felt deliciously sated but his insides still stung in anticipation.

“We can do that again if you want.”

“You promise?”

Magnus laughed again, rolling onto his side to face Alec. His smile bright and mischievous and Alec couldn’t help the responding smile, till his cheeks ached. His face filled up with color until he could taste his blush. Magnus kissed the crook in his shoulder, tickling him until his laughter became something else. Magnus whispered against his ear.

“Definitely.”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
Alec drowsed. Magnus’s warm body next to him. Alex kept his eyes closed, willing himself to stay in his in between state of hazy awareness. His limbs still buzzed from frazzled nervous. He had a delicious ache all over.

Birdsong shot through the air, reminding him that it was morning. Alec squeezed his eyes shut against the sunshine, threatening against his closed lids. He nuzzled into Magnus’s shoulder. Magnus stiffened, shifting beneath Alec. He groaned, crust peeling about his lids and he tried to force his eyes open. Peering out through hazy vision. Alec blinked rapidly, eyes watering as pale morning light hit his face. Alec looked down at Magnus, who was still but seemed alert to him somehow. Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Blurry to his newly woken senses. Alec turned his head. He froze. 

Standing at the foot of the bed was Quinn MacIntyre. Downworlders flanked either side of him. Werewolves flexed their muscles as vampires flashed their teeth. The fae‘s eyes gleamed as some warlocks clustered forward. Alec bolted, arms sweeping back to the dresser. In a moment just as quick, Quinn held up Alec’s seraph blade. Alec froze, hand still hovering over the nightstand. He lowered his chest, bringing himself over Magnus. Quinn tutted, wagging a free finger.

“Ah-ah-ah.”

Alec’s eyes darted. Magnus was entirely too still, chest bare and barely fluttering. Alec swallowed, looking back up at Quinn. The werewolf gave him a crooked smile, but when he spoke next, the words were not directed at Alec.

“Magnus, for shame. Playing possum while lover tries to defend you.”  
“Trying to get you to leave.” Magnus cracked an eye open. “Hoped you’d have more sense than this.”

Quinn laughed. “Magnus, man, I think you know me better than that by now.” He sobered. “You should have known that we wouldn’t stand for this. For betraying your own kind.”

Magnus scowled, moving silent and gingerly. He used his arms to steer Alec behind him as he sat up. He fixed Quinn in place with his eyes.  
“I don’t owe you anything.”

“That’s the thing. You do.”

Magnus leaned forward, hands moving forward and back. Dreadlocks leered back at them. Alec’s lips quivered as he tried harder to press his lips tighter together. His skin prickled and his stomach bubbled. A crash from downstairs made Alec jump; laughter rang up to the top of the stairs. Alec bared his teeth as the sounds became louder. Something that sounded like glass being shattered. Whooping echoed through the flat and Alec could have sworn he smelled smoke. Magnus’s shoulders squared off and tense. The muscles slid up and down as though they longed to move the rest of Magnus.

Quinn kept still as the smell of smoke become denser, more realized. It crept up the stairs, slinking under the cracks in the doors. Alec gagged as the smoke began to move up the stairs. He sat up straighter, his movements plain to the other downworlders. Dreadlocks leered at his shift of his muscles and Alec's subsequent freezing when he was noticed.

“Not yet, mousie.”

Alec's mouth tightened, teeth aching. Mouth filled with spit as he kept his cheeks sucked in. He snorted, trying to hold off swallowing as long as he possibly could. Dreadlocks laughed at the loudness of Alec's swallow. A buzzing, soft and cold. He knew that Dreadlocks was about to move by the slight hitch in the creature’s ankles. Dreadlocks’s arms stretched out, extending his reach to the bed. His skin was smoother than Alec anticipated. Alec ducked out of reach, rolling to the side and tumbling off the bed.

Quinn’s companions shouted and Magnus sprang forward, blue sparks shooting out of his fingertips. They danced over Dreadlocks and Porcupine, hurtling them into another row of vampires and fae. Quinn avoided them with a sharp side-step. Alec kept low, weaving around the flailing downworlders and raced down the stairs. Magnus shot off more blue sparks, knocking back pursuers whose fingertips brushed Alec’s legs.

At the bottom of the stairs, smoke thick and choking clotted in the air. Alec squinted; he could just make out the Jackson Pollock against all the smoke. His eyes watered, head shaking for Magnus. he jumped when he felt the warlock brushing up to his side. Magnus pressed his lips to Alec’s cheek. He nuzzled into Alec, pushing the side of his face into Alec’s head, directing him to the left where the front door was. Alec nodded. The heat blazed from the other side of the room, spreading from the curtains and licked the ceiling. Alec hacked, gritty air entering his lungs faster than he could expel it. He crouched low, carpet burning the palms of his hands and knees as the moved to the door. Alec grabbed on the doorknob and he yanked his hands back with a shout. Magnus crawled next to him.

“Here let me.”

Alec squinted, tilting his head in time to see Magnus’s hands vibrate. A kind of hum going up around them and Alec shivered. The flash of blue was so quick Alec could have imagined it. The doorknob shouted off, crashing through to the other side of the door, a smoking hole where it used to be. Magnus pushed the door. Its hinges screamed as Magnus shoved Alec forward ahead of him. 

Alec tumbled out into the hall and moved out of the messy heap he was in. He blinked, eyes streaming as he staggered to his feet. Fire crackled behind him and he turned in time to see Magnus emerge. His hair was singed, looking wilder than ever. The warlock grabbed Alec’s arms, half dragging half carrying the stumbling Alec. They took the stairs two at a time, their haphazard footsteps echoing over the marble floors. 

Magnus steered Alec out to a side entrance. The door swung behind them, slamming at their heels, scraping flesh from their ankles. Alec shuddered at the blast of outside air. Magnus tugged on his arm and Alec straightened up. Alec kept his hands on Magnus, who bent down a bit, hands on Alec’s elbows. Alec’s knees shook and he retched, nothing coming up but spit. He took a couple of shaky breaths; the chills raking through his body subsided. 

Sirens wailed from somewhere, their blaring getting closer and closer as rain drizzled onto their shoulders. Alec breathed in deep. Car exhaust, rain, and vendor food smelled wonderfully human to him right then. The sirens got closer; competing with the fire’s snapping flames. Alec pressed himself closer to Magnus but his legs were still and free of trembling. Magnus’s chest was wonderful and warm to Alec’s cheeks, hair tangling itself onto Magnus’s shirt. A smile twist of his lips was the only visible hint of what was inside. His voice only inflected with tiredness. 

“What next?”

“Keep moving.”

Alec disentangled himself with Magnus, but they walked shoulder to shoulder through the parking lot, holding hands in the rain.  
______________________________________________  
TBC…


	18. The price of devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Cassandra Clare's TMI series, Eric Kripke's SPN, or Holly Black's Faerieland series. Recognize any character and I don't own it.  
> Warnings: Violence, minor to moderate racism. Possible language.  
> AN: The timeline for this is post-Valient, pre-Ironside for the faerieland series.  
> Also sorry about the lateness. I'm on vacation, so a schedule slip-up or two might happen again.   
> Word count: 3,517  
> Enjoy!

“Ok, don't speak until spoken to.”

“But we're gonna have a conversation...right?”

“You mean as if talking back and forth?”

Yeah. Yeah that's what a conversation means. That's what's gonna happen right...right?”

“Hopefully.”

“Hopefully? What do you mean hopefully? You said that-”

The door slammed open. Simon jumped. The werewolf who went in from the door didn't change his expression when Simon whirled to face him. When he turned back to Jordan, the other boy shrugged. Simon fiddled with his tie as two attendants flanked the doors. Their identical black uniforms hugged muscular bodies. Both were tall men and Simon assumed them to be brothers. Even their poker faces were the same.

The Praetor Lupus mansion was far larger than Simon thought, even after Jordan told him what to expect. It was lavish. The white paint was dry and clean. The furniture seemed at once old and new. The wood polished to a gleam. Mahogany. Simon gave a little smile. He peered into a writing desk, his reflection trembling back at him. Gilt framed the edged the boarders of the frame for the large painting above the mantled fireplace. The more Simon stared at it, the more he shuddered.

Riders on horseback raced through the sky, kicking up dust as they raced through a thunderous sky. Their faces contorted into rabid glee. Simon shuddered. The paint for their eyes was think, just enough white for the sclera, thick in some place, then a dark slash to show the iris. He moved to get a closer look, peering up at the rider in the lead. Frowning, his fingers hovered over the paint. It looked warm to the touch.

“Ah the Wild Hunt.”

Simon jumped. He backed away and turned back to Jordan. The werewolf nodded his head in the direction of the painting.  
“That's what the Praetor showed me the first time I came here.”

Jordan elaborated with a wave of his hand. “When I first came here, that picture was the first thing I noticed. I was so scared.”  
Jordan gave a small laugh, rubbing his arm.

“After a while it didn’t bother me so much anymore. I don’t know why but the longer I stayed, the more I walked past it, the more it didn’t bother me.”

Simon turned back to the painting. He stared at the rider in the lead. His face contorted and his arms raised as he charged and came at Simon at a frozen gallop. Teeth bared and flecks of foam at the corners of his lips. Simon’s insides quivered. He tilted his head and his ears perked. Someone approached behind the closed doors before they were opened with a uniform smoothness. The two guards stepped back as to not get hit by the oak doors. Another werewolf in black came through the doors. He kept the doors open, corded muscles twitching in effort. The werewolf’s face was impassive however and he spoke.

“The Praetor Scott will see you now.”

“Thanks Darius.” Jordan said.

Jordan tilted his head in the direction of the doors and Simon followed the two werewolves out of the room and down the hall. The corridor was long and wide enough for two men to walk abreast of each other. However, they marched in single file. Or rather, the two men ahead of him paced in time as Simon hurried to catch up. Simon’s eyes darted to the portraits lining the walls. The heavy and dark frames that emphasized the stern expressions of the paintings subjects; Simon guessed that most of the men posing were related. Many said men had square jaws or high cheek bones. Either blondes or redheads adorned the walls, their hair thick and combed over and gleaming. Rows upon rows of eyes pierced him and Simon straightened his back.

They stopped at the end of the hall. The corridor branched both on the left and the right, but Darius stopped at another set of thick, intricately carved doors. A design of wolves sitting on their haunches and howling, their muzzles slim and pointed up at a full moon that hung at the top of the door. Darius rapped his knuckles in rapid fire strokes. The muffled response of a voice and then Darius opened the doors. Jordan and Simon hurried inside. As soon as they entered, Darius gave a little bow and shut the door behind them.

Sitting behind an opulent wooden desk, its craved design of moons and ivy thick in the wood was a man. His gray-green eyes stared at them and Simon forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. A shock of graying blond hair resting atop a sharply defined head; its features pronounced, with a light slope to the nose. Lines running down and around the eyes and mouth. Thin lips that were a pale pink slash that became even thinner at the site of Jordan and Simon. He leaned back into his chair, arms resting on the desk, and Simon could see the drooping muscles from the limbs through the light fabric of the shirt.

The door opened again and Darius reappeared, carrying a tray laden with meat. A sterling teapot rattled the teacups resting next to it. He set the tray down onto the desk. Darius bowed low to the Praetor and left back the way he came. The Praetor leaned forward and began to serve the tea. His hands were large and callused. Simon blinked at the sight of such hands cradling the delicate silver teapot as tea was poured into tiny cups. The Praetor pushed two cups to Jordan and Simon. Jordan nodded and lifted the cup to his lips. Simon wrapped his fingers around his but did not drink. The Praetor leaned back into his chair once again as he continued to stare at the two of them.

“Tell me something, why is it that Simon Lewis, the fledgling vampire who is now in the thrall of his new clan, needed to speak to me?”  
“Thrall?”

He nodded. “What else would you prefer to be called, now that you have joined the ranks of Camille’s clan? I have kept abreast of the situation.”

“Not abreast enough.” Simon blurted out.

The Praetor raised his eyebrows as Jordan sucked in a breath. Simon didn’t drop his gaze but he gave a little shrug.

“Then pray tell what is the situation?”

“It’s like this. Camille and I both run the clan but we have different ideas on how to do that. Not because we disagree but because what she wants to do will harm humans and downworlders alike.”

“I believe that would have been par for the course don’t you think?”

Simon saw Jordan gape out of the corner of his eye. Simon scowled.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” He sighed. “I know…which is why I’m trying to change that. I want to unite downworld. That’s the only way to keep us safe. All of us, not just downworlders but humans too.”

The Praetor heaved a gusty sigh. “You certainly aren’t the first to entertain such notions and you certainly won’t be the last.”

Simon tilted his head, frowning. He inhaled sharply, back stiffening as Jordan leaned forward, medallion hovering over the edge of the desk. His teacup clattered onto its saucer, tea splashing onto the desk in little globs. Simon swallowed, forcing himself to allow Jordan’s words to reach his ears.

“But sir, if Camille threatens the peace, especially if mundanes are in danger-”

“Which is always the case-”

“Even more so since Idris fell!” Jordan’s knees banged against the desk. “We may have had our differences with the shadowhunters, but they were protectors and now without that protection, we-”

“We’ll just have to make do.” The Praetor cut in. “As we always have. Now is the time to be secular with our communities in order to protect ourselves. Again, unity between the races, particularly ours.” He swiveled in his chair, adjusting himself until he leaned forward, palms pressing against the chair’s armrest. “People like Camille will never change-as with the nature of us all. There will always be conflict. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be.”

“I see.” Simon stood up. “Well I know I just learned something right now.”

He turned to leave and he heard Jordan clambering out of his chair behind him. Simon’s arms strained as he yanked the doors open and he strode out.  
________________________________________________________________________________

Night sung. Traffic blaring down the streets as lights shone from the bars, shops, and theaters. Puffs of air swirled around Simon’s mouth as he and Jordan walked down the avenue. If Simon had been human, his jacket wouldn’t have been enough to cut the chill in the air. Jordan meandered and Simon slowed his pace.

“What now?” Jordan asked. “I know I can’t leave this unfinished.”

“You sure you won’t get in trouble for this.”

Jordan gave a huff of not quite laughter. “You know what, let me get in trouble. I’d happily get in trouble with them.”

“Well…ok then.” Simon cleared his throat. “And…thanks.”

“No problem. Now what’s next?”

Simon gave a little hum, turning to Jordan. They stood underneath the marquee of a movie theater, flashing red lights dying their skin a vibrant red. A car passed the curb, taillights swerving over Jordan’s face. Simon shook, feeling a hot-cold sensation shooting throughout his body. He let out a little breath, tongue too big to fit in his mouth and it took him a few moments to answer.

“What…what if...what if we went to-” Simon said. “I've got an idea.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________   
“This is your idea?”

Jordan gestured to the graveyard that was only a few yards away from them. Simon's fists clenched inside his pockets. Simon nodded and then turned behind to see that Luis was still there, his back pressed against an old Buick. He leaned back far enough that he wasn't ramrod straight, but his legs bent at an angle so that he could spring forward at a moment's notice. He kept his palms flat on the roof of the car, silver rings on his fingers gleamed even without the sun to give illumination. The piercings in his face bright against his face. Scowl firmly in place, he kept his eyes on the wooded cemetery.

“You're friend is right.” Luis said. “Even with a faerie that's somewhat sane, this is still a shitty idea.”

Simon gave a little shrug. “Thanks Luis.”

Luis made a sharp noise from the back of his throat. “Don't thank me yet.”

“Just be here when we get back.” Jordan said.

“That's if you get back.” Luis replied.

“We will.” Simon said.

With a nod and a hoodie covered hand wave, Simon strode off into the cemetery. Jordan loped off after him with a slight growl in his voice. Simon's tennis shoes crunched over frosty grass, crumpled trash, and tumbled stones. The names on the cluttered headstones washed out and faded even to his vampire eyes. The trees seemed to become more varicose and knurled the farther into the woods they became. Simon frowned.

The air hummed, scents catching in his nose and the chill in the rotted vegetation made him gag. His face squinched as his body shuddered at the quick and dirty tug n' pull sensation. Simon's fangs slid out, piercing his lips and he gasped when he tasted droplets of his own blood. Beside him, Jordan growled. Simon turned to see that Jordan's ears had become tufted and his eyes gold.

“...Are we...?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we're in faerieland.”

Jordan gave a little cheer and Simon's smile was tugged out of him. A sharp bolt of reeds made them both jump. Simon bared his teeth to the point that his lips were pulled far enough apart for his jaws to ache. Jordan's eyes darted everywhere.

“Smell them?” Simon asked.

“Yeah. Their all around us.”

Simon's ears pricked. The foliage was dense but dying. Leaves rustled and fell to the ground. They were colored is sick golds and moldy greens, and rusty reds. Bark gleamed and cracked underneath Simon's fingertips and he shuddered at how soft it was underneath his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, furry caterpillars squirming under the branch. Simon dropped it to the ground.

The music grew louder. Simon tilted his head. The last time he was in faerieland, the music pulled him somewhere, crawling inside his body. Pleasant only when he was outside of himself and wanted to stayed locked out of his body. Now, he could feel the music try to do it to him now, but the sharp tones slamming into his ears, trying to invade. Simon shook his head, mind swimming away from the noise. He nudged Jordan and pointed ahead of them.

“I-I think it's this way.”

“Yeah. Ok, yeah. Sounds closer too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

Simon's hand shook and Jordan grabbed it, gripping tight. Simon let out a shaky breath as the two trotted down a slight slope, flurries of leaves and brown grass kicked up in their wake. Faeries darted this way and that, the closer the two got to a clearing. Simon gasped, fangs slick as spit flicked out of his cheeks as he dashed forward. Bursts of movement came from the trees and faeire knights surrounded them. 

“Think we’re here.”

“I can see that.”

Each knight leveled a weapon as they encircled Simon and Jordan. Their armor gleamed, dark bark against rough skin of various shades. One fae with black eyes and braided hair of vines leveled an axe at Simon. When she spoke, her voice was crunching glass. Her lips peeled back in a snarl, filed teeth pearly, almost like icicles. Simon felt his mouth mirror hers, snarling of his own accord. The fae woman stiffened and a companion to the right of her, a man with feathers for skin and bright blue eyes twirled a rapier made of bark and thorns. The fae woman spoke.

“Have a care where you step strangers.”

“We’re here to see your king.” Simon said.

She sneered. “The king?”

“Yeah. I have something to discuss with him.”

“This rabble isn’t fit to receive our lord.” The fae man said. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The knights froze. Simon and Jordan whirled around. A man emerged from the woods, branches parting in his wake. He was tall and pale, with white hair cascading down to his back. It shone like water, smooth locks rippling with ease. Slate gray eyes staring at Simon and Jordan, never once averting their gaze. A green skinned girl pupil-less black eyes glassy as pools. Her own hair fanned out behind her as her eyes took in the scene before her. 

“A vampire and werewolf travel together to find the Unseelie court and King.”

“Have we found him?” Simon asked. 

“Indeed you have.”

The Unseelie King inclined his head. He strode over to a stump, its bulbous roots knotted and sprawled over mud and dead leaves. He brushed off the top of the stump and sat down; his legs open as he leaned down and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Come and sit. Say your peace in comfort. I won’t have it said that I am not courteous to my guests.”

“Errrr…much obliged.” 

Simon sat down, hands patting the grass as he slowly bent down and sat. Jordan following suit, he kept his eyes fixed on the Unseelie King and his green skinned companion. He kept his back straight, knees bent and his behind hovering over the ground. The Unseelie King’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile but it didn’t stay on his face long enough for Simon to find out. 

‘Your cohort seems eager to quit the woods. Perhaps you should speak quickly.”

Jordan coughed into the back of his hand. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not too keen on the fair folk at the moment. No offense.” 

“None taken. I’m familiar with the sentiment myself.”

Simon gave a little nod. “Well, on that note, I’ll get right down to it. I’m guessing it’s all over downworld now that Idris has fallen and that I’m running the Manhattan clan of vampires with Camille.”

“Perhaps. What of it?"

“I want to know what you intend to do, knowing all that.”

The King’s eyes flashed and Simon suppressed a shiver. “If you were privy to such knowledge, I believe I might tell you.”

“You’re kidding right?” Jordan asked. 

“Do I look to be in a gaming mood?”

“I feel that I am privy.” Simon cut in. “Privy because I am a leader, same as you and I think it would be in everyone’s best interest to work together, seeing as there are no more Shadowhunters around.”

“I may not be in a gaming mood, but a generous one. In truth, I did not deal with the Nephilim as much as my counterpart.”

“…The Seelie Queen?”

“Correct.” The king nodded. “I do understand your position. However, I would need to be convinced of your need. My people are my priority.”

“I get that, I do.” Simon took a steadying breath. “But…if we worry only about our own people…we’re gonna end up in an even more dangerous spot than we are now.”

“There are times when that is the only position to take, as unpleasant as it can be. I say this from one king to another.”

Simon gave a little laugh. “…Something I’ve noticed these past couple weeks is…the more you try and protect someone, the more you end up hurting other people. Sometimes…I’m not sure I even wanna be that guy.” He gave another little laugh. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense.”

“You are. Indeed you are.” The king took his time in speaking. “What do you intend to do that requires my assistance?” 

Jordan, who had been sagging, now perked up, eyes wide as he looked at the King again. Simon’s eyes widened and he spoke a bit louder now with clear eyes.

“To create an alliance with all downworlders of New York City, maybe even extend it to the Tri-State area. To form new accords. The Shadowhunters are gone, but that can’t stop us from making peace. A better peace.” 

“You think we can achieve this peace? I know of Camille’s reputation.” He eyed Simon. “She isn’t aware that you are here…is she?”

“No, she isn’t. We’ve worked out an arrangement. We co-run the clan, but I know that won’t last. She…she used me as an attack dog to get rid of her competition. I told her that if she was going to use me, then I would have a say in things, but that isn’t going to last for long I know it. I thought if I joined with her…”

“If you had the means to achieve a good goal then you had to use it?” The King stared again, this time his eyes retreating inward until the pixie next to him put a hand on his shoulder and he returned to the conversation. “I understand. I shall assist you in your endeavor.”

Simon smiled. “Thanks so much.” 

“I wonder…why do you long for peace when much your peers do not?”

“I haven’t been ‘one of my peers’ for very long. So I dunno, I guess I still want to keep them safe too. That I don’t underestimate people either. We do that and we’re all dead.”

The King gave a grim nod. “Indeed.” He shared a look with the green pixie. “Indeed.” 

“So what do you propose we do?” Jordan asked. “Not for nothing, but I’m pretty concerned about us.”

“I have some conditions as well.” Simon said.

“I may have a solution to that, if you are amendable.” The king said. 

Simon leaned forward on his haunches and the Unseelie King spread open his palms. Their voices pitched low, and the green skinned pixie tilted her head, but stood up. Jordan looked around the small clearing. The knights were still there, but they had lowered and sheathed their weapons. Hands still lingered on the hilts of swords and the handles of axes and knives, but stances had relaxed. Only a few dared to show open interest in the conversation. 

Jordan’s eyes were drawn to the trees, to the way the trunks shot up to the sky and how black the bark was. How the dying leaves floated down like angel feathers from an overcast sky. The way that odd reed and flute song stabbed at his ears as it round its way round the trees. He kept looking up, some sort of déjà vu keeping his eyes pinned in place as he tried to remember when he felt such foreboding. He saw no birds in the sky and he tore his gaze back down to the scene before him.   
______________________________________________________________________________  
TBC…


	19. Punch drunk-moon struck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own, but I'm playing with them and I'll put them back on the shelf when I'm done with them. Oh and the lyrics I also don't own. They are from a real musical that I'm not making up. If you know which one, a free internet for you.   
> Warnings: In-universe slut shaming, some sexual content, blood-letting, general grossness, typical to higher than typical violence.   
> Word Count: 12,387  
> AN: Enjoy!

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to focus as the clanking of gas pumps rang through his ears. Out of the corner of his eyes, Isabelle shifted in the backseat. Her eyes pinched shut. Her long black hair fanning out in a frightening tangle. Color had come back in her face. Even with a healthy flush, clear sliding tracks stood out against thick eyelashes and pink cheeks. Sam twisted around and filled the gas tank, hand keeping a tight grip on the gas pump. He looked down to see his hands white-knuckling the cold, greasy handle. 

“Yeesh, grip that any tighter and it'll break Samsquatch.” 

Sam jumped. He whirled, hands fumbling for the pump as oil spilled onto the ground. Gabriel, who's hands were full of plastic bags full of snacks. He gave a little hop backwards to avoid the spray of oil. Gabriel's laugh had a bit of a leer to it and Sam scoffed, putting the pump back in its slot with a frown. 

“Your fault.”

“Oh of course.” Gabriel gave another little laugh. “It always is.”

Sam's gut twisted in an odd fashion, as if his intestines had been rankled around his kidneys. His lips burned in memory from the faerie court. His frown etched over his face and his voice came out snappier than intended.

“Well then don't sneak up behind me.”

Gabriel threw up his full hands, eyebrows riding high as his lips quirked and Sam felt another stab of irritation. The back of his neck felt hot and he pushed past Gabriel and went in to pay for the gas. When he came back, Gabriel was already in the passenger seat, a candy bar unwrapped. Sam clambered into the drivers seat. He adjusted his rear view mirror to catch Isabelle's face. She was staring back up at him with red, dry eyes that glared back at him. He swallowed his words and pulled back onto the freeway.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________

Rain pounded down on the windshield and Sam gritted his teeth. He peered over the steering wheel. Red hazard lights blurry against the glass of the wet windshield. The outlines of cars in front of him shimmered. Sam drove over a pothole and the car jumped. They all jolted forward. Isabelle hissed, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. Gabriel snapped forward. He chuckled, popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth and clapped his hands.

“Ten points for Sammy!”

“You know, you could help. Tell me where to go, I can't find the interstate.” 

Gabriel chewed on the candy bar. His mouth twisted up, nose scrunching up to its bridge. Sam shook his head, with a thick noise in the back of his throat. Isabelle shifted in her seat. Leaning forward, she pointed to sliding map on the dashboard. 

“We're supposed to be over here.”

Her finger bumped onto a thick line, a black scrawl that stayed unbroken for at least a mile. It made the paper rustle before it slid off the dash and fell onto her arm. Growling, she tried to shove it back on the dash. Sam winced as the edges of the spazzing map hit him, corners flapping with loud crinkles. His hands twitched on the steering wheel and Isabelle yanked the map and took it into the back seat with her as she leaned back. 

Isabelle's legs gave another little kick as they went over another pothole. Sam swerved a bit, angry honking following from the left. Gabriel smirked as Sam swore. Isabelle folded the map, going back to the page it was at before and pressed the pages together tightly. The creases were sharp and precise. She pointed again to a thin unbroken line. Her fingers hovered over it, following it. 

“I know where we were, but, yeah we're probably lost now.” 

“Ain't the the truth.” Gabriel said. “Even Jesus's sense of direction was better than this.”

Sam did a double take, glancing at Gabriel. Another sharp honking from the right this time made Sam swerve. He ignored the traffic sounds and rubbed the inside of his windshield with his hand. He glared at Gabriel out of the corner of his eye and the archangel winked. Isabelle, watching all of this, huffed and the thrust the map forward finger tapping at a state highway icon. 

“Here, turn here. It should be coming up, in about five minutes. On the right.”

“Fine fine.” 

Sam stepped on the gas, rocking the car forward, tires sliding as he took the turn-off on the far right lane. Isabelle and Gabriel shuddered back and forth as Sam tried to control his car's descent down the twisty lane. He slowed down long enough to get to the end of the turn-off and into the merging traffic lane.

“Go to the right.” Isabelle said.

“Alright.”

Sam went down the lane, his pace steady as lightening flashed through the sky. It lit up the sky, blazing so bright that it could have been mistaken for day for just a moment. Sam had looked up to the right in time to see a hotel with neon trimmings. He could even make out a name. 

'The Crimson Lotus Hotel and Casino.'

“Ok, Hell I'm turning over there.” Sam squinted. “Is that the parking lot?”

“Looks like it, yeah turn now.” Isabelle said.

Sam turned into the lot, parking up front and taking one of the remaining spots. The three clambered out, taking only a single duffel bag and racing inside the hotel. Warm air hit them as soon as they rushed inside. Sam shivered in appreciation as the air circulated around them. Inside the hotel was bustling with activity. The lobby was grand, three stories visible because of the high vaulted ceilings. Plaster made out in the shape of Corinthian columns as they pseudo held up the floor of the next level. On the ground floor itself a oriental rug sprawled all along the lobby floor. The front desk seemed far away, sequestered in an alcove beneath the ceiling of the second floor. Gabriel whistled.

“Nice digs for Des Moines.''

Sam gave a little shrug. He opened his mouth but Isabelle made a scoffing noise. She shoved past him with a huff.

“Let's just get a room already.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________________

The two adjoining rooms were just as plush looking as the rest of the hotel. Gabriel and Sam were sharing a room, leaving Isabelle with a room of her own. She watched them bustle around their room for a moment, Sam letting his duffle bag hit his bed with a heavy 'thunk' and then setting up his laptop onto the desk. Gabriel wasn't much help, as he had flung himself on his bed-the mint on his pillow already devoured- and flipped through the channels on the TV by snapping his fingers. 

She left the moment Gabriel's teasing had more of an edge to it and Sam's retorts increasingly barbed. Before she shut her adjoining door with a sharp click just in time for the main door to her room rapped with a brisk pace. She opened it to see her bellhop with a golden trolley heaped with luggage. 

“I have your things here ma'am. Where would you like me to put them?”

He couldn't be much older than her, little wisps of blond peeking through an old fashioned cap. His uniform was pressed and starched, the maroon an unnatural bright thing to her eyes, but the longer she stared at it, the less that bothered her. He fidgeted but Isabelle continued her assessment.

A slightly bland face. Not to say that he wasn't handsome. On the contrary, he was. Just that it was a kind of vague handsome that could be found in magazines. His boyishness was leaving his face and probably within another year or two he would be striking. Although his dark blue eyes seemed a bit too muddied, or at least too shy to keep Isabelle's gaze for long.

“Ma'am? What bags?”

Her tone was sharper, more alert. He dropped his gaze and flushed hard, the bright redness made Isabelle blink rapidly. It curiously got her hackles raised. His sheep-like mundane-ness slapping her in the face, but as his voice stuttered and she longed to snap out the sentence for him, the flush in his face set a tingling in her guts.

“W-w-w-wwell ma'am-miss I'm, I mean miss. Ms. The bags from your car. We-I've-the staff, well, anyway, I've collected your bags as per hotel policy.” He swallowed audible even with Sam and Gabriel's arguing. 

Speaking of Sam cleared his throat. He leaned in the doorway. He frowned.

“I didn't know there was valet services here.”

The bellhop gave a little smile. “Yes sir, we've got the whole nine yards and pride ourselves on it.”

Sam strode forward, fishing some bills out of his pocket and handing them to the young man. His eyes widened and he beamed.

“Thanks sir.”

“No problem.”

“Where would you like your luggage?”

“Here is fine.” Sam pointed to his bead. “Here let me give you a hand. Oh, we're not staying long, so do you think it would be possible for you to tell the maids not to disturb us?”

“I can sure try.”

“Great, thanks.”

The bellhop scuttled back to his trolly that he left in Isabelle's room and dropped his gaze once more.

“Ms.?”

“Right, put it on the bed.”

“Y-yes Ms.”

Isabelle crossed her arms, leaning on the wall as she watched the bellhop. The longer she watched him, the more her gut curdled. The she shivered and the bellhop went over to the heater and turned it on. He met her eyes and gave a little shudder of his own and Isabelle nodded at him. As his eyes flashed and became concealed by his eyelashes, she couldn't tell if he was smiling or not. When he began to wheel his trolly out the door, he gave a little pause. Isabelle saw Sam and Gabriel out of the corner of her eye. Still in the same rhythms. She slammed the adjacent door. The bellhop gave a little jump and Isabelle had to force the grin that threatened to come up on her face away. 

“W-well, hope you have a good stay here miss.”

The bellhop darted out of the room, banging into the trolly as he made a hasty exit. He tried to shut the door behind him, hands slipping on the handle before he got a firm grip and shut the door. When he was gone and Isabelle alone, she finally let loose her grin, laughing to herself. Isabelle gripped her arms tight, insides still warm. She went to the TV, turned it on and kept the volume up on some action movie she didn't recognize.

Isabelle walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She let her dusty travel worn clothes hit the floor. They had been traveling for days after the faerie court, not stopping until they left Jersey and taking a different car after they passed out of the east coast. They had taken a supply run and Isabelle's bag had consisted of essentials: bar of soap, hairbrush, and toothbrush. No shimmering make up or dresses. She only had one seraph blade and her whip, which she discarded now and let it rest on the sink. No, real clothes to speak of. Even if she did, she wouldn't want to wear them as she hadn't bathed in days.

She stepped into the spray of the shower. The warmth of the water made her shudder and the motion brought her thoughts back to the bellhop. A mundane. She huffed, water fanning out from her nose and mouth. Isabelle reached for the bar of soap, lathering her hands before putting her hands to her shoulders. 

“Hmmm the mouth on him.”

She stopped her voice as her hands slid on suds, wandering down past her navel. Biting her lips as she saw him in her minds' eye, flushed and stuttering beneath her. Fingers grew bold, moving quicker as her body trembled under the shower head.   
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sam's dreams were full of blood. It was warm on his hands and he could feel his grin stretch over his face like pliant fabric, like a favorite sweater. Bodies were sprawled all around him, the ground cruddy with dried blood, broken glass, and dirt. A man with black eyes stood in front of him, face broken in, a malicious glint in iris-less pools. Sam lifted one hand, fingers ripping the man's throat with ease. Sam caught the man before he sagged to the ground. As the wound from the demon's neck poured, Sam bent down, putting his lips to it, as if he wanted a kiss. As soon as his mouth touched the liquid, he opened his mouth wider. Groaning, he tipped the head back and pressed the body to him. The sweetest taste of all, a heady, burning finish finer than any whiskey. Power thrummed in his veins, vision sharp as his heart sang. As he gulped down the blood, he could hear Lucifer chanting from behind him.

“Mine, mine mine mine mine mine...”  
_______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel woke up the earliest, lured by the candy colored whirls of slot machine lights. Even in the morning hours, when by all rights, only the steadiest of gamblers came out to play, people parked their behinds on rich chairs to test their luck. The bar had yet to be full, people were greeting the day with coffee as opposed to alcohol. 

He passed Sam on the way downstairs, trying to check out. Sam's voice increasing in pitch. The man behind the counter held up his hands. He was sweating.

“I'm sorry sir, but due to the weather travel is ill advised. There is a flood warning alert for the whole county, not to mention the wind and hail. It's much too dangerous and this facility is equipped to deal with those kinds of hazards. I must insist that you at least stay until the worst of it is over. We'll give you a discount and ten free plays over at the casino.”

Sam snorted. “...All right.”

The clerk’s shoulders slumped. “All right then, thank you. Now, would you like to be upgraded to a suite?”

Gabriel tuned out Sam's response and went down to the casino. Sleepy-eyed and bored dealers stood chatting at their tables, a few lonely black jack players leaning forward on their stools. As he passed by the craps table, he watched the dice mid roll as they skimmed just inches over the table. Gabriel curled his fingertips just a bit, turning his hand at angle and the dice tumbled, flipping over even as they hit the green of the board. A few men gave little cheers and Gabriel smiled. 

This casino was larger than he initially thought it to be, but didn't pay it much mind. His hands seem to tingle in their own right, making it all the way down to his feet. He hummed a few bars of an old song he could no longer remember the name of. Gabriel wandered until he went to the very far back of the casino, in some tucked away corner. A few slots looked promising, but none more so than a green machine decorated with plastic smiling shamrocks. 'Luck of the Irish' emblazoned in sparkly letters. It promised a grand prize of ten thousand. 

It was occupied by a voluminous old woman in a fur coat and broad frilly hat. Her makeup was thick on heavy cheeks and fleshy, sagging jowls. She was bedecked in jewelry, large chunks of shimmering stone. It was so brazen that if Gabriel didn't know better, he'd assume that she was wearing the faux plastic kind that could be found at any strip mall. She wore a bright purple and black dress of old velvet, the softness of the fabric giving way to a kind of mothball fraying texture. The purple too shiny even in its age. The frilly-top half of the blouse did nothing to hide the strain that the corset-like mid-section tried to manage. Her bosom, for lack of a better word, heaved with the effort of being kept in tight confines best left to a younger generation. The dress mercifully ended at the knees but didn't take into a account the runs in the woman's stockings. Her lacquered and pointy black shoes tight over swollen ankles. Her fur coat was also in black. Its bulk draped over her with a kind of ease that it probably had when she first got it. 

The slot machine next to her was unoccupied, a pink thing with fat winking cherubs holding bright red bows and arrows. Its title in a looping scrawl. 'Cupid's trick shot.' It promised a prize much to the same amount as the luck of the Irish. He saw down at the cupid machine and fiddled with the lever. The woman eyed him, purple eye shadow making her brown eyes bright. 

“It works better when you have money.” She gave a cackling rasp and handed him ten dollars. “Don't spend it all in one place.” She winked.

Gabriel touched the mottled hands and the brush of sickness wasn't enough to make him wince but he schooled his features all the same. He grinned. 

“Trouble is, I aim to do just that.” He winked.

She gave a little chuckle, not quite blushing but she lowered a fur coat for just a moment to reveal mostly bare shoulders before shivering and putting it back on. 

“I am Madam Patterson and you are?”

“Gabriel. Gabriel Jones.”

They shook hands and Gabriel put in his ten dollars just as Madam Patterson pulled the lever on her machine. It flashed and lit up, giving a prolonged jingle as numbers racked up. She gave a little wiggle in her seat that was a odds with her throaty chuckle.

“Sit here, you're a good luck charm.”

Gabriel laughed. “I like to think so. Everybody else not so much.”

“Oh? Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Hoo boy.”

“I've got time.”

“How much?”

Madam Patterson gave another laugh, throwing her head back. Her hat miraculously managed to stay in one place and Gabriel caught flashes of red curls beneath it. Her hooked nose prominent as her profile back lit by red lights from overhead. 

“I've got all the time in the world.”

Gabriel pushed the spin button, eyes tracking the reels as hearts, arrows, and angels blurred past him. He began speaking.

“Weee-lll. I've been an a road trip with girl with a bad attitude and a Sasquatch of a guy whose got issues even bigger than him. Said issues arise from my crazy family.”

“Ah, aren't all families just?”

The simple-ness of the statement, a universal knowledge of this conversation, the natural sympathy on commiserating of the nature of crazy families. It made Gabriel laugh far more than it should. 

“Oh yeah, trust me when I say its total Armageddon. So I've got these brothers who cannot live together without trying to kill each other.”

“It's the same with my ex-husbands.”

“Oh? Played a little fast and wild?”

“I still do. I'm of the impression you do the same.”

Gabriel laughed. “Oh yeah, been doing it for years. It's the only escape I've got. Problem is, this kid, well this guy I'm traveling with just keeps bringing it back.”

“Much like my own children. You can't divorce them.” She paused. “Although you can disinherit them.” 

Gabriel nodded. “Mhmm. Amen to that.”

“How did he get mixed up in your adventures?”

“By existing.”

A waitstaff pushing a trolly of drinks went past and Gabriel snagged to large clear plastic cups of coke. Madame Patterson made a hum of appreciation, sipping and smacking her lips. He handed her one and she nodded her head, raising the cup higher before taking a drink. Gabriel continued as she took another swig.

“No, ah I was working at a University when he and his wild as the hills brother showed up. Words ensued...and then fists. Seriously, we met off and on for a couple of years because messing with the brother of his is waaaay to entertaining than it should.” Gabriel gave a shrug. “I dunno, I didn't really plan on sticking around to get to know em', but it just kind of happened.”

“Then enter your brothers.”

“Yes. Enter from stage right. Enter and take over the whole show.” Gabriel pushed the button again. “So since they do nothing but fight-”

“And drag everyone down by the sounds of it. My daughter is just like that, always has to but into everyone's business with her big ideas that nobody wanted-”

“Exactly, exactly! It's like, this path of destruction, like they have to wreck everything just because they can't make sense of the world around them.”

“If you haven't already, I'd say drop them. Drop them like radioactive waste.”

“Tried to. With minimal regret.” He added.

Madam Patterson snorted. “Regrets are a waste of time.”

“Ain't that the truth. That why your here?”

She gave another laugh. “Of course darling. This is where dreams flourish and die all in one moment, I love it.” She took a gulp of her drink. “Here's to making it last.”

Gabriel raised his cup, ice melting as condensation made the plastic go foggy. For a moment he was transported back to the groves of old, human revelries sang underneath stars with praising eyes, hope in their hearts. A sudden pang went through him, to be standing on earth, and watching it all go by. It's a small moment, but that's all that matters. People have been having these small moments ever since they've been people, maybe even before. His machine suddenly stared whirring with bright jangly noise and flashing lights from the little LED bulbs in pinks, yellows, and reds. His eyes widened a bit as Madam Patterson gave a raspy cheer in response and Gabriel downed his drink in a single swallow.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________

Isabelle breezed past the gift shop, entirely intent of blowing over it when something caught her eye. She had turned the corner and swimsuits caught at her vision's edges. Doubling back and hurrying into the store, she headed straight to the discounted swimsuit rack. There, staring back at her was a revealing white one piece. Isabelle grabbed it and headed for the dressing room. She breezed inside the small cubicle of a room, mirror to her back. 

Isabelle shimmied out of her old jeans and tight top. Sliding into the bathing suit, it didn't take much adjusting and she almost gasped at it. Almost. It was a pristine white and very tight, particularly in the bust. The tops of the suit, where the strings began just at the tips of her bust, were thin-almost flimsy. Although that wasn't what caught her attention. The cups on the suit were firm and held up reasonably well. Even more so, they brought her chest up and tightened it in a way, to the point where it not only enlarged her breasts but challenged them to spill out of it. Only a slim chain in between the two cups kept them close together as the suit dipped low in the middle, exposing her belly button before scooping up to cover the mound in between her thighs. Thick white straps rode high on her hips, letting them remained uncovered as the rest of the suit connected to her sides. She turned around to see that there was no back, only a strip of white coming in between her buttocks.

As she turned round and round, she could see no unflattering angle. Even the lighting in the dressing room was favorable. Her stomach was taunt and and firm, with muscles peeking out as sculpted. Unblemished and hairless skin flattering her suit even more. Long legs that tapered off to high arches in her feet and slim toes. She turned to catch a glimpse of her backside. A well rounded rump that stood out without any sagging. Her hair was even blacker thanks to the suit. She let it hang down, strands tickling the small of her back. 

She put her clothes back on and strode out of the dressing room and out of the store. Isabelle walked around the halls of the hotel until she found an employee, uniform stiff and name tag gleaming. Another cut boy. Another curl of her gut. She tilted her head, not even sure at the suddenness of it.

“Which way to the pool?”

He blinked. “Oh. Follow this hall and then take the stairs. The main area is right in the center you can't miss it.”

“Thanks.” Without thinking, she winked.

“No problem.”

She strode off without a word and sure enough found the pool with ease. The pool stood in the center of a wide floor. No gates to enclose the pool as it's layout was strange. It was on the ground floor of the hotel in the center. It was surrounded by what appeared to be a rec center that originated on the far left, with small eateries, a mini arcade, and a lounge. All of the spaces were occupied as Isabelle made her way to the pool. She found a lounge chair and shucked off her clothes, tossing them onto said chair before slipping into the pool.

The cool water had just enough heat to keep her in it and she dunked down, letting herself slide inside the water like an otter. She didn't know how long she stayed in the pool. Water slip-streamed around her body, enveloping her like an old friend. She could take from it all she wanted. All she ever needed was this concrete tank of water.

Isabelle's head shot up from the water and the chill made her eyes open wider. She slid out of the water, hands clutching at the guard rails and pulled herself up. She went over to her clothes, looking through the pockets and finding nothing she wanted, stood up. Only out of the corner of her eye did she see the stares. That men averted their gaze, only a few open about their gawking. Isabelle squared her shoulders and left the pool, leaving her clothes behind in a heap on the chair, and made her way to an elevator on the far right. 

Turning, it was as though the elevator doors opened just for her. Including the fact that at least four business men in sharp suits stood waiting in the elevator. She stepped inside, not missing the way they eyed her as she kept her back to the elevator door and stared them down. Instead of the typical elevator music, Aerosmith's 'Love in an Elevator' thumped from hidden speakers. Isabelle only raised an eyebrow. 

“Up or down gentlemen?”

The men exchanged looks, the handsomest flushing as he gave a grin to the rest. The one on the far right looked her up and down as the two remaining men on the left nudged each other, whispering too low for her to hear. Aforementioned handsome man spoke first.

“...Down please.” He gave a smirk.

Isabelle smirked back. “Of course. I shouldn't be surprised. So will all of you be going down?”

The man flushed harder, looking down for a moment at her unblinking eyes, but she leaned forward, her chest hovering by his chest. He blinked rapidly, lifting her head, but struggling to raise his gaze to her eyes. She raised an eyebrow. 

“Seriously?”

“What do you think?” She took her time eying each an every one of them. “I'm a pretty generous gal.”

“I'll say.” One of them muttered.

The handsome man turned behind to look at his friends, catching their grins before turning back to Isabelle with a brisk nod that didn't hide his widening grin. Isabelle returned the look. 

She turned around, putting her backside out a little as she pressed the emergency stop button and turned back to them. Isabelle smiled.  
___________________________________________________________________________________  
Sam wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and then ran his fingers through his hair. The air conditioning was acute on the back of his neck. As he wandered around the hotel, he continued to listen to the rain slam onto the windowpanes. Staff and guests alike bustled around him, but there was a whooshing sound in his ears, rattling around in his head, making Sam blinked the sweat out of his eyes. 

After he left the front desk and ended up booking another night, walked off and found the casino but didn't stick around for long. He passed the main lounge, limbs heavy as he climbed a set of stairs. His shoulders sagged and he moved with a slowness that surprised him. As he made it up to the second floor and walked down the hall, did he realize that he took a wrong turn. Sam shrugged and as he began to turn, knocked into someone.

“Sorry, I-”

He brought himself up short. Whatever unpleasantness he had been feeling didn't compare to now. Sound dropped out, as if his ears couldn't hear but only from a great distance. His heartbeat-no wait it was the other man's heartbeat that he was hearing, that drowned out all other sounds. His breath came up short, trickling into his lungs at a snail's pace. He grew dizzy. His shoulder from where he knocked into the man froze. Sweat broke out underneath his clothes and he shivered, teeth suddenly chattering. Sam fully faced the man, who happened to be wearing a staff uniform. His name tag gleamed up at Sam, but it hurt to look at, so he didn't catch the name. 

“No the fault was mine. Is there something I can help you with?”

Sam turned his head around to see where the man had come from. A door at the end of the hall. It was only open a sliver, pale light trickling through the cracks. A wave of dizziness overcoming him the longer he stared at it. A shadow of movement fluttered from behind the door. Sam's throat convulsed. Fresh sweat broke out on his face. He leaned to the door, shoulders sloping and straining while the rest of his body tried to twist away, making his legs shake. A small movement from behind the door and the sensations gripping his body became greater. He frowned. Swallowing heavily, he turned back to the man and nodded.

“I uh, got a little turned around. Could you show me where room 203 is?”

“Certainly.”

As the man led Sam back to his room, the feeling increased and Sam rubbed his arms, skin crawling. His stomach growled, loud enough that the man in next to him winced in sympathy.

“Here you are. Room 203.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Say, do you want me to send up some room service?”

“Huh?”

“From the sounds of it, you haven't had anything to eat, and no offense, but you don't look so hot.”

Sam was about to shake his head, giving a little laugh. “No, I...sure why not.”

“Very good sir. Anything in mind?”

“Anything, really. Anything's fine. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Sam nodded to the man, hands fumbling for a tip before slamming the door. He stumbled to his bed flopping over, eyes shutting against his will. Only when the rapping on his door became too much to ignore, did he crack his eyelids open. His body protesting when he stood up to answer the door. As soon as he yanked it open, did he have to stumble back to let the same staff member wheel in a cart heaped with food.

“W-wow. That's uh, that's a lot.”

“Yeah, I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I just grabbed a bit of everything.”

“Uhhhh....thanks.”

The man beamed at him. “No problem. Call me up again if need anything.”

“Will do.”

He waited until the man left to check out the food. He sniffed at a sandwich. A fancy cheeseburger, its lettuce adorning it like a frilly skirt. Dark sauce oozed out of the meat, dressings heaped over it and topped with a bun thick with sesame seeds. He gave it a poke, frowning. Sam lifted it up with both hands and took a bite. Delicious. He took his time in finishing it, but as soon as it hit his stomach, he cleared his throat and grabbed the soda they brought up with it. 

The carbonation hit his throat, sliding down his esophagus and he gagged. Sam stood up, abrupt and urgent. He bolted for the bathroom. He barely had time to flip the lid of the toilet before getting violently sick. When he was finished, he leaned back on his behind. The cold tiles seeping up and into his bones. Sam shivered, the sweat breaking out anew. His stomach growled and he frowned. After a few moments he stood up and went back to the main room. 

Sam took a few sips of his soda, letting out a shaky breath. He waited for a solid ten minutes before trying the plate of spaghetti, peeling off the saran wrap and placing a fork in the center of the dish. He could only take a few bites before rushing back into the bathroom again. Sam repeated the process, next with the salad, and then with the bread sticks. Yet each and every time, between plates, his hunger only grew. Sam took another shaky breath and wrapped the plates back up and carried them to the door. He opened the the door and the very same staff man stood in the entryway. The man's eyes flashed black. Sam froze.

“Heya Sam.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________

Isabelle sauntered over to the bar, swimsuit turning gambler's heads as she went over. Now that night had fallen, the gambling floor and bar were both in full swing. A band was playing from a stage that was in the back of the bar, a circular little stage. Isabelle peered into the smoky haze and saw a familiar face. The bellhop. His cap was off and a shock of blond hair fell neatly about his eyebrows. He leaned forward on the bar, one elbow on the bar's counter top and and his other arm slung over his chair. The hand that rested on the counter top, lingered over the glass of his drink. His legs were crossed at the ankles. The very picture of repose. 

She made a beeline for him. When he finally looked up he did a double take at the sight of her, eyes going wide as she she sashayed forward. Isabelle took a seat next to him and leaned forward so that her breasts spilled through. The bellhop's gaze ping ponged up and down, darting his gaze away from her cleavage. Isabelle slowly crossed and uncrossed her legs, the water long since dried from them. 

“So taking a break?”

“Y-yeah.” His gaze fluttered up to meet hers before dropping back down again. “I come here when my shift changes. I know the bartender.” He blushed. “W-would you like a drink?”

Isabelle wriggled in her seat. “I'd love one.”

The bellhop gestured to the bartender and pointed to Isabelle. A moment later a squat glass with amber liquid that gleamed under the lights. Taking a sip, her throat gave a pleasant burn. She smacked her lips.

“So, what's your name? I've been calling you bellhop this whole time.”

“O-oh? It's Greg.” 

“Greg.” She smiled. “Is that a common name?”

Greg flushed, eyes shuttering as she shifted in his seat. 

“How about your name then?” The challenge died out of his voice when she stared back at him. “Please?”

She huffed. “Isabelle.”

“Pretty.”

She laughed and gulped down the rest of her drink. “Follow me.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________  
Gabriel, after leaving Madam Patterson, moved back to the tables. The rumble of thunder was faint over the cheering gamblers. The craps table was crowded, onlookers pressing close to the players. Gabriel weaved past a drunk gambler, avoiding being splashed by the drink in his hand. Gabriel moved closer to the table and stood next to a young man rolling a pair of dice. The young man gave a small smile when he came up. There were seven players in all. Three women and four men. The former of the three were all younger women this time around, tight glittering dresses enveloping bodies of varying curvaceousness. Two of them, both on the far left, were loosing. The last women was betting high and coming up. Many men were cheering her on. As her dice made their mark, she wriggled in place and raised her arms in the air. When the rest of the onlookers began to cheer her on, she kept going. 

Almost as if her hips summoned it, the occupied slots machines began to light up and jangle out their tinny victory music. Their players whooped and cheered as they all hit the big payouts. Most, if not all began to frantically put more money back into the slots, only for the process to repeat. However some did leap from their stools to rush the cashier's or the machines. 

Gabriel looked up, fiddling with the speakers as the patrons beside him ordered more drinks. 'La Guracha'. No one looked around in surprise but instead began to dance with abandon. Soon the music sequestered into a musical number as the players and the dealer at the blackjack table got up and formed a can-can line. On slot player shuffling out money bills from the palm of his hand. 

'What the fuck was that?

Your sister just turned into a zombie

What the fuck was that?

Your girlfriend was a demon too

What the fuck was that?'

Soon the entire casino was dancing, singing, and making exaggerated motions as they pretended to gamble. Gabriel watched one young man beaming up at him in a never ending expression as he moon-walked past Gabriel, huge wads of cash in his fists. Gabriel mimicked the dance as all the gamblers moved in coordinated moves as one man twirled an elderly woman while the man across from him did the same with her walker. After a beat, they traded partners. The twirling granny was caught by expert hands before she was tossed into the air. 

'She just ripped my pre-ripped Abercrombie

'What the fuck was that?

I just got some Shelly on my shoe

What the fuck was that?

What darkness lurks behind this wooden sanctum?'

Gabriel laughed and gestured to the crowd and found himself enveloped. A few people were still shuffling in the back, staring with slack jawed stares as Gabriel danced alongside the crowd. As the swarm around him grew, they began to lift to him over their shoulders. Gabriel sang the rest of the chorus as he crowd surfed back to the craps table as the roulette table beside him trembled as patrons scrambled around it. He passed a man sitting on top of a lucky triple seven machine. His drink sloshed over himself as he screamed out.

“Bitches out for blood!”

An elderly couple shouted out the dialogue to each other, clapping their hands as a young dealer responded in kind. 

'What the fuck was that?

Now I'll put an end to this vacation

What the fuck was that?' 

Gabriel lifted himself up and jumped onto the craps table, kicking aside the piles of chips that accumulated. They scattered into the crowd, people scrambling to pick them up. As the room's lights began to flicker, but didn't quite diminish the song was rising in pitch, belting out. Gabriel threw back his head and spread out his hands, interjecting just as the final words were being sung.

“I am magic!”

'What the fuck was that?

It's the e-”

A scream cut off the rest of the song and the lights went back to their usual glare for a second before the light bulbs shattered and kept the lights dim. The half light was only more pronounced with the swirling, colored lights from the slot machines. A single blub from the cashiers window. A single teller woman peered from beneath the panel and straightened when she saw that people had finally stopped moving. The only sound came from the slot machines' theme tunes. People looked around, finally murmuring to themselves, if only for a moment before another brief scream started up again. 

The teller grabbed at the glass in between the counter and herself, slamming her palms into the glass before it cracked and gave way. It fell in clumps and the teller pulled herself up over the counter and dropped down the other side of the floor. When she stood up, even at that distance, Gabriel could see that her eyes were pure black. 

People began a flurry of movement. Some hurried back to slot machines and tables, pulling at levers and pressing buttons in abandon. Gabriel turned to see Madam Patterson pressing buttons on a slot machine over and over, not noticing the sharp cracking her fingers began to make as they broke one by one. Droplets of blood staining the buttons as she kept pressing them. The slot machine's lights made her face glow and illuminated her wide glassy eyes. 

Blackjack and poker dealers flung cards at players, not caring about the number of cards. One dealer shoved players out of the way, scrambling to get chips. An elderly woman punched said dealer in the face with just enough force to get him to stumble back before he responded in kind. At the roulette tables a middle aged man pounded on the spinning wheel where the ball zipped in a circle, the white ball flying past the red and black squares and rolled on the floor. 

More people mobbed the bar and restaurant as the bartender himself grabbed an obscenely large bottle of vodka. He ripped off the cap and the pour spout and began gulping the vodka down straight from the bottle, clear liquid running down his chin and to his his shirt. He ignored the patrons that climbed over the bar and grabbed bottles off the shelves. 

Those with plates of food started scarfing down their helpings. A young woman rushed over to an empty table with its section riddled with leftovers. She started shoving a piece of chicken in her mouth, elbows slamming into the table, and a small cup of sauce tumbled off and splattered onto her dress. Double doors from the kitchen burst open and a chef came racing out. He made a beeline for the young woman with the platter of chicken wings and shoved her as he slid into the booth seat beside her and began shoveling chicken wings into his mouth. The woman beside him elbowed him just as he began to put another piece of chicken into his mouth. It only got half way in, but his eyes bulged all the same as the young woman began to claw at her own throat. His gurgling drowned out her gasping and in moments both were dead.

Gamblers hands swarmed around Gabriel's feet and ankles as they shouted out nonsensical bets, screaming as chips were flung back and forth. Dice rattled around, hitting peoples teeth and eyes as they leaned far into the table and the dealer yanked at fluttering money. Gabriel however, kept still staring forward. A slow clap emerged from somewhere in the front of Gabriel's direction. Quite a few black eyed onlookers stared back at him, stock still until they parted in unison. One demon pushing along a decrepit old man in a wheel chair. Said old man was the one doing the clapping. The demon stopped his chair in front of the table. 

“Indeed.” He said. “Bravo.”

“Famine.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Isabelle yanked the bellhop down to her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He tried to get his hands beneath her shoulders as the two tumbled down on the bed. His hands fumbled with the strings tying up her bathing suit at the back of her neck. She gasped, arching a bit as his thumbs dug too deep into her neck. The bellhop succeeded and the cups flopped back and he pulled them away, groaning at the sight of her bare breasts. She bit her lip as he began to play with them and pressed herself even closer to him. Isabelle gave a little laugh at the bulge that pressed back at her. The bellhop moaned into her neck and she she replied in much the same way as the heat of him enveloped her. Isabelle's hands struggled to maneuver to the bellhop's belt buckle and after a few seconds of struggle, she tugged it free and yanked down the zipper of his pants. 

Said pants slid and pooled down at his ankles. As Isabelle's fingers played with the hem of his boxers, a loud bang came from the Sam's room next door. She turned back to the bellhop and the sound grew louder. The bellhop was about to pull back and Isabelle yanked him down again. The adjacent door slammed again, giving a prolonged groan that couldn't drowned out a muffled shout. The doorknob rattled for a second before stopped groaning. 

The bellhop shrugged and pressed down and began to move his hips to start a rhythm. Isabelle exhaled through her nose as her stomach trembled and let the bellhop bite her neck again. The adjacent door burst open, knocked off its hinges as Sam collapsed into the room, head stopping at the foot of Isabelle's bed. Three black eyed people in suits rushed forward. The bellhop shot up, eyes wide and mouth wide, opening and closing like a fish. The only female demon of the group waved her hand and snapped the bellhop's neck.

He fell back on the bed just as Sam rose up, knife in hand. It was free of blood and Sam panted. Isabelle scrambled up,the top half of her swimsuit sliding down to her waist. The three demons didn't gape so much as laugh. Sam did a little turn before doing a double take as Isabelle stood on her bed at a half crouch. He did gape as Isabelle moved to the nightstand. Her fingers curled out to grab the glittering strands coiled beneath the lamp. It shot out with a flick of her wrist, slicing the throat of the demon woman. Her eyes widened in surprise as she fell backwards, blood spurting out of her neck.

The two other male demons eyed Isabelle as she raised her whip up high. She kept part of her gaze on Sam. At the sight of the woman roll backwards, he startled. He stared at the redness about her neck and shoulders as she slowly twitched, hands clamping around her wound. Sam was pale, sweaty, and his eyes darted as his throat convulsed. Isabelle stared as the tendons around his adam's apple stood out and pulsed. He was clamping his jaw tight, mouth pressed in a thin line. 

Isabelle flicked her whip and the two demons pulled back. Their gaze flickering in unison back and forth between Sam and Isabelle. One demon crouched down to his felled companion and Sam darted. He grabbed Isabelle's wrist, yanking her forward. The demons darted, the third one staggering to her feet. Sam pulled Isabelle's door so hard the knob cracked loose, sagging in its confines as the door screamed in protest. Sam turned right and sprinted down the hall. It was only thanks to Isabelle's training that she could keep up. 

“What's wrong? We could have taken them back there.”

“Just hurry.” He panted. “When was the last time you saw Gabriel?”

“Not since last night. I think he went down to the casino.”

“Shit. How much you wanna bet this place is over run by demons?”

“That's not even a gamble. It'd explain why things have been so strange. How could we have missed this?”

“...We've been had.”

They turned another corner away from the maze-like halls and into a wide area. A sign on the right stated the ballroom was up ahead. On the left were a series of elevators. The one closest to them on the far right had a sign taped to it, proclaiming that it was out of order. Two escalators up ahead were stuck, their tread unmoving. It was silent save for a muffled sort of groaning from some corner.

Isabelle looked up to see the second floor's halls littered with fallen bodies. Sam followed her gaze and flinched. A little girl bled from the nose and mouth, stomach bloated as she leaned on the railings. Another man lay face down in a food tray from room service. A couple still clutched at each other, slim rings gleaming on their fingers as they pressed bloody cheeks together. The man was still moving his hips as the light died out of his eyes. 

The halls of the second floor wrapped around the right, the turn down the hall was visible for a few meters before turning out of sight. The bodies lined down each door. Isabelle lowered her gaze and tied the top of her swimsuit back up before adjusting her whip. Sam gripped his knife harder in white knuckles. No footsteps greeted them as they stood in the main room, carpet stained in reds, dark browns, and a few grayish-whites. A collapsed stand with a cracked vase lay by the doors of the ballroom. Sam tapped Isabelle's shoulder. She stiffened, but turned in his direction. He nodded to the ballroom doors.

She nodded back and they strode over to the doors. Each took a side, wrapping their fingers around their respective handles. Sam pressed his ear to the door, gritting his teeth. He nodded and the two opened the doors, bursting inside the room. 

Shouts came at them in response. At least twelve demons startled and rushed at them. Isabelle's whip sang in the air as she swung it in wide arcing loops. It cracked sharply and those closest pulled up. The trio of demons from Sam's room shouted at the others, the woman rubbing her neck as she did so. Sam however, kept his gaze on the center half of the ballroom. Gabriel stood opposite a man in the center. An old man slumped in a wheelchair. Flesh sagged around his face, exaggerated by the fact that the man was baring his teeth. Teeth that were as square as tombstones, and just as cloudy. They were yellowed with rot and the color stood out sharp against thin, pink gums. Tufts of white hair stood up against the vain attempt at a comb over and bushy eyebrows managed to keep the eyes unobstructed. Said eyes were the color of the dregs found in a coffee cup and they glittered like wet beetles inside the man's skull. They were sharp, the only part of his body that seemed sharp and on its feet. 

He raised one knarled hand riddle with age spots and pointed to Sam. The tape that held together the respirator tube about his wrists was fraying. The man's whole hand shook. His body creaked as he tried to lean forward, wheels on his chair squeaking. The demons froze, gazes trained on the man and Sam.

“There you are. I wish you didn't keep us waiting. I thought it was because you were preoccupied with your dinner that I sent up for you.” He stared at Sam. “Shame that it's not.”

Sam swallowed hard and after a moment shook his head. His eyes wide and dark and trembled. Isabelle kept her whip low to the ground. Gabriel's smile was tight, fixed on his face as he clamped his fists tight to his side. His whole body was rigid, shoulders making odd little twitches as he regarded the old man. 

“Who is this?” Sam ground out.

“Famine.” Gabriel said. “The horseman. Should have known.”

Famine wheezed. “Yes you should have. You would have if you hadn't let your powers as an archangel atrophy so to speak.” He gave another wheezy chuckle. “Didn't you think it odd that you couldn't even sense my presence? You've been playing the trickster for so long you've forgotten what you truly are.”

“I'll still smite you to the ground, horseman. You've been letting yourself go too. My brother promise you something he couldn't keep?”

Famine laughed just as Isabelle lunged, whip snaking out. Demons leapt helter-skelter as it swung wide. The demon she previously cut snarled and her two companions raised their arms. Isabelle's feet skimmed the ornate carpet, gathering in speed as her whip slipped off her wrists, sailing into the air as she was flung backwards. Isabelle slammed into the wall. She grunted, teeth rattling in her head, as stars burst in her vision. 

“Do something.” she snapped at Gabriel. 

“Would if I could sweetheart.” he snapped back.

“Now Sam, I'm beginning to find your lack of apatite rude. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you weren't hungry.” He gestured to the demons around him. “Please by all means.”

Sam glowered at Famine. “No.”

Famine smiled, features twisting until what his mouth was doing could no longer be categorized as a smile. “Now, now it's only natural. You're the intended vessel of our dear Lucifer after all.”

Isabelle whipped her head forward, straining to move the rest of her body. 

“Sam-”

“Could it be that you're shy?” Famine asked.

Sam side stepped to the right, movement slow as he inched forward to Famine. A demon dashed to the old horseman's side, avoiding Gabriel with a sharp turn. 

“Maybe you need a push.” Famine said. “After all, you've got to be big and strong for Lucifer.”

Sam ducked, dodging the tackle and the demon spun on its heel. It slammed into Sam, hands about his neck. It kneed Sam in the groin and he doubled over, knife falling to the floor. Two other demons rushed to Sam's side, fist slamming into any piece of skin they could get to. Sam twisted away from a pair of hands and curled his own into fists. He punched the demon closest to him, once in the stomach and once in the face. The sharp crack from the demon's nose echoed in the room seconds before it's blood spurted in Sam's face.

Sam stumbled back, squinting and licking his lips. The bloodied demon pressed his advantage, grabbing at Sam's shoulder just as he rose up, knife in hand. In one swift movement, he sliced upwards, catching at the demon's jaw. A spurt of blood trickled down and Sam pounced. His hand slammed into the side of the demon's head and pulled the demon's jaw to his mouth. Sam bit down hard, shaking like a pit bull a hold of a piece of prey. Blood splashed over Sam's face, flecks going up to Sam's cheeks and even underneath his eyes. The demon struggled but Sam kept a firm grip as his hand snaked up, thumb pressing into the demon's eye. 

Said demon squealed, twisting the sound into cursing. Sam pressed harder into the demon's eye. Sam's hand shook as hard as the demon's head. It's eye burst like a grape. It howled, collapsed to the floor. Blood spread to the carpet, but Sam paid it no mind and turned to the next demon. The female demon snarled as the demon on her left feinted. She race straight for Isabelle. Sam leaned forward, eyes glittering. Isabelle caught their look and shivered against her invisible bonds. 

Sam pushed the other demon back and it stumbled back, tripping over the first felled body. Sam's hand shot forward with a raised palm. The female demon stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened as her feet came out from under her and she slid down the carpet and back to Sam's feet. He hoisted her up and sliced her neck. Her wound bled anew and Sam put his mouth to her neck and drank. 

Coldness went all over Isabelle. She could felt the blood drain from her face, hair on the back of her neck standing up, sweat beading along strands that went down her hair and shoulders. Her teeth chattered as she was unable look away from Sam sucking down blood from the demon's neck. 

The demon woman slumped down and the demon that had begun the feint charged for real. Sam held up a hand again just as Isabelle slumped down to the ground. She pressed her back against the wall, palms sweaty as she tried to lever herself up but she legs shook too much. 

Gabriel's eyes darted in between Isabelle and Sam. He caught the gaze of the former and she felt herself nod. Her whip was only a few feet from her, but the clattering of demon's feet kept her from getting close. Gabriel's hands opened from their fists and curled his fingers until they got into position. He snapped his fingers and Isabelle's whip slid past the other demon's feet and into her hand. As soon as her fingers curled around it, the muscles in her arms were shot through with energy. Isabelle leapt up, uncurling her whip and flinging it into the air.

She caught a glimpse of Sam's hands darted this way and that, like a demented conductor directing a chorus of destruction as black smoke poured out of people, who then crumpled to the ground. Isabelle's whip made for Famine. The demon responsible for wheeling him around blocked the whip's progress for a moment before being flung cross the room by Sam. Sam's knife dropped to the floor once again. Isabelle's whip nicked Famine's respirator. He gasped, almost sharp enough to be a scream on its own merits. Isabelle flicked her wrist once and her whip darted up and wrapped around Famine's neck. She twisted her arm above her head, forcing his head upwards. His eyes rolling so that the yellowed whites showed, thrashed in his chair. Pestilence tried to grab the wheels on his chair. Gabriel leaned for a second and then dived for Sam's fallen knife. 

Isabelle and Gabriel went to Pestilence's side. The whip strung tight, red lines appearing on on the skinny chicken neck of Pestilence. He gurgled, arms flailing. The back of his right hand smacked the side of her face. His signet ring cracked the bridge of her nose, the sickly gleam of the ring's metal blasted her eye before it moved out of her vision. It spidered up the side of her face, finding root in her hair, fingers wrapping strands of her hair around spindly digits. He jerked his hand down, Isabelle yelped, quickly followed by Famine's deep wheeze as his own neck bowed down sharp and concise as Isabelle's whip continued to dig into his flesh.

“Please.” He rasped. “You gave into your desire so easily, so quick to satisfy that pound of flesh.” His raspy voice spiraled into laughter. “Does that plaything between your legs make the loss of your family any easier?” 

Isabelle tightened her whip, the strands shining bright against Famine's pale neck. His tongue leaned out of his mouth swelling as his mouth gaped as his eyes looked ready to ping pong out of his head. Gabriel darted to the side, knife hand hovering.

“Do it!”

Gabriel brought the knife down. It sliced past stands of Isabelle's hair and rustling small currents of air around her cheek. It bore down on Famine's fingers. Isabelle's head shook as the knife sawed through Famine's bones. The heat of the horseman's blood splattered onto Isabelle's hair and eyelashes. Famine gave a small gasp, chest fluttering for a moment. The tiny thump of something hitting the carpet. Isabelle glanced down to see three fingers, smaller than sausages roll onto the floor, a slightly dirty ring lying beside them. 

As if released, Isabelle slumped. The absence of weight that was only there moments before, her whip went slack, slithering down an empty wheelchair. Isabelle shifted and the weight made the wheelchair rattle. She moved out of the way as it collapsed to it's side and she growled as strands of hair got caught and pulled in the handles of the chair. Isabelle sunk to the ground, shaking as her arms strained to keep her even halfway off the floor. 

Famine's ring winked up at Isabelle, blood giving it more shine against the ruddy band. Fingers shaking, she picked it up with her thumb and forefinger. She rolled it in the palm of her hand. It was still warm. 

Sam thudded onto the floor, wiping the blood off his face with the back of one shaking hand as he gagged. Isabelle shivered even as Sam's eyes became warm again and filled with horror. His hazel eyes turning a brighter shade of green as his eyes went glassy. He turned, over and over neck cricking as he stared at the sprawled bodies of the people around them, blood only pooling around a couple of them. 

Only Gabriel was able to stand, his shoulders set in an odd way, as he fiddled with the knife in his hand. He turned to the hunter.

“Sam.”

Sam took a few minutes and it was only when Gabriel called his name a second time that he met the archangel's eyes. Gabriel tossed him back the knife. Sam caught it and stared at the blood that adorned its blade before wiping it on his shirt. Gabriel extended his hand and Sam stared at the hand. He kept staring at it even as he pulled himself up without it. Isabelle braced herself with shaky palms and stood up, giving a shaky exhale when she she did. She stared at them both, gaze avoiding the ground. She could barely keep her eyes on Sam but it was the better alternative. His face was the picture of desolation. Brows twisting as he tried to keep his expression in check. The eyes, not so much open doors as a bursting dam. Lips pressed in a slash of a line, almost gray in their paleness. Sweat made his hair appear thinner than it really was. His whole body shook. Isabelle had to take a moment to realize she was shaking too. 

Gabriel tore away his gave from Sam to regard Isabelle and then looked back to Sam. “What, no witty one-liner?”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sam and Gabriel's room was a mess. The two bed's mattresses shoved on their sides, the nightstand overturned completely, and the lamp shattered. The adjacent door still lying on the floor, hinges giving a slight swing. Isabelle looked around the decimated room, catching her reflection in a spider cracked mirror so that ten Isabelle's stared back at her. Bruises bloomed all over her, the beginnings of a shiner where Famine's ring had smacked into her. 

The longer she stared the more something trembled in her gut and she kept her gaze firmly trained on her reflection and not what used to be her room. She ignored the sounds of Sam and Gabriel's voices. Her hair was uneven, she squinted. A chunk of hair was shorter than the rest and she frowned. The dried blood on her mouth exaggerated the expression further. She rubbed at the spot, but it only served to irritate the skin around her mouth. Isabelle strode into the bathroom. She held up Famine's ring and smacked it down onto the sink's top, next to the bar of soap. The tinny echo made Sam jump and both men turned to her. Gabriel pursed his lips as he stared at the ring and Sam frowned. 

“...Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“Yup.” Gabriel said, drawing out the word. “Each one has a ring of his very own.”

“Yeah I know. We already got War's.” Sam said.

“Did you now?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Did you know that if you collect all four you have the key to Lucifer's cage?”

Sam and Isabelle turned to him. He trembled, ashen faced and wild eyed as he looked to Gabriel. Isabelle went taunt, frowning with her held at a slight tilt. She put her hands on her hips, fingers still twitching and stained with Famine's blood. She opened her mouth but Sam beat her to it.

“What?” He stuttered for a moment. “What are you talking about what does that mean?”

“And explain fast.” Isabelle said, moving closer.

Gabriel held up his hands. “When my old man put Luci in prison, he got a special section of hell all to himself. Dad must have made the key in case Lucifer felt bad about it and wanted to come home.” Gabriel snorted. “Fat chance of that. Anywho, collect all four rings and presto the key to open the cage. Play our cards right and we can push him back inside.”

“Oh, and you expect him to waltz back inside I suppose.”

“What, why didn't you tell us this before?”

Isabelle and Sam said in unison. Gabriel lowered his hands. His back was straight but his smile was lazy. “One you didn't ask and two no I didn't because like all Winchester plans, this one was a dark horse.” 

“Ok, point.” Sam said. “But you still should have told us. Anything helps.”

“Ok ok ok.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “So, I'm guessing gotta catch em' all?”

“Yes.”

Sam wiped his brow as Gabriel hummed the theme tune for pokemon. Isabelle huffed, watching as the two men shuffled around her and their voices began to grow distant. 

“You'll have to tie me up.” Sam said. 

Isabelle perked up at this and twisted her head to regard the two men.

“Tie up what now?” she asked.

Sam lowered his gaze as if the sight of her burned. “To keep me in check. There could be more demons around and I...”

“Might drink their blood too?” Gabriel offered. “At least it'll be easy to stop.” 

“Easy?” Sam's voice rose. “I could have killed all those people. Hell I probably did and I-”

“Do it again?” Gabriel cut in. “Kiddo, I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm an archangel despite what ironside said back there.”

Gabriel fished out a pair of handcuffs from seemingly no where and tugged Sam into the bathroom. Sam grunted after he nearly got smacked into Isabelle. 

“Fine.” she huffed. “I'll just find somewhere else to be then.”

“Sorry.” Sam said.

Isabelle waved her hand. “Not your fault.”

She strode out of the room and went out the door, shutting it behind her with a bang.

“Nice. Real nice.” Sam said. 

“Yeah, cuz' that's my biggest concern right now.” Gabriel replied, cuffing Sam to the bathtub's facet. 

Sam gave another exasperated exhale as he shifted his weight so that he sat comfortably within the bathtub. He growled as Gabriel shoved himself next to him in the tub, already cramped as Sam extended his legs over the rim of the tub. 

“So you are concerned?” 

“Sam, I'm shocked that you'd ever suggest otherwise.” Gabriel smirked. “I get concern, I'm totally down with concern. These are some of my favorite things.” He ended his word on a sing-songy note.

Sam rolled his eyes. “My hero.”

“I'm here all week. I get paid by the hour.”

Sam laughed. His chest ached.

“What? I'm so much more accessible than batman.” 

“You know you'd be downright sleazy if you weren't so charming.”

“You think I'm charming?”

“It's the detox talking.” Sam gave a shaky exhale. “You're just taking advantage of me.”

“Not true. The ladies love me.”

Sam snorted. He was about to reply but Gabriel leaned in close enough for Sam to count the strands of his eyelashes. Sam inhaled sharp and took in Gabriel's aftershave, or maybe it was something it else. It was that same scent that the archangel had in the faerie court and Sam shuddered, chills enveloping his body. 

“What are you doing?”

Sam winced. His voice coming out softer and more frayed than he would have liked, but when Gabriel replied, his heart snapped to a stop, blood hovering in his veins, refusing to move. He never quite heard the that tone from the archangel's voice.

“Taking advantage of you.”

Gabriel placed a light kiss on Sam's lips. Sam's whole body shook and his lips burned even as Gabriel pulled away, the contact so momentary that Sam reasoned that he could have imagined it. He wanted to shrug, but his shoulders burned and even then, something held him back. Held him back enough to make his vision blur and go black around the edges. It was the reason why he suddenly found himself unable to truly move and it crashed all around his ears. 

He wanted to not want to pretend it didn't happen. Now he knew why. Sam swallowed heavily, throat barely able to preform the action. He barely heard Gabriel's words, let alone his own response, but was glad that his voice didn't shake.

“Seriously, what was that?”

“Can't I just be the mysterious one?” Gabriel wriggled his eyebrows.

Sam choked back a laugh. “No. Not when you've been acting so strange.”

This time it was Gabriel's turn to laugh and it seemed more biting than usual. “You don't know anything about me.”

Sam growled and it made his throat burn. “I know enough to see right through this crap. Dean does the same thing. Drop the act.”

“You gotta stop comparing me to your brother, I'm starting to think you've got a complex.” At Sam's look, he held up his hands, eyes getting a slight far away look in them. “Alright alright.” His gave shifted and Sam frowned, more in thought then anything else. “You really think so?” Gabriel asked.

“...I know there's more to you than meets the eye.”

“Oh. Transformers. Classy.”

“Gabriel. Please.”

After another look at Sam, Gabriel huffed. “Fine. So Famine wasn't entirely lying. My angel mojo has...'atrophied' in a way. I...was...am a trickster.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “To the point that I can't even tell if Cas is still alive. Course that could be as much him as it is me, but still...Guess I gotta grow up too.”

Sam sensed the last part of his sentence was more to himself than it was to Sam, but he didn't care. Something tightened in his chest, in a not-so-unpleasant way and he resisted the urge to put his hand on Gabriel's shoulder or even nudge him. As if sensing this, Gabriel tilted his head closer in Sam's direction raising an eyebrow in what Sam was beginning to realize was a trademark expression. Sam couldn't help smiling back even as his thoughts whirled. 

'Oh shit, I'm in trouble.'  
__________________________________________________________________________

Isabelle wandered back down to the main floor. She walked back to the pool. Her clothes were gone and a few people floated face down in the pool. She stared down at her reflection, chlorine overpowering her and she snorted before walking away. Walking back into the shop where she took the swimsuit, she pulled clothes off the racks and stuffed them into her arms. Grabbing a duffle and few more toiletries before she went into the dressing rooms. 

She clicked door behind her and ripped the strings holding the suit up, tugging the thing off her and once it puddled at her feet, she kicked it under the door. Isabelle flicked her wrist and her whip came to life. She grabbed the slim point at the very end of it, not caring how it pricked her fingers. Isabelle's whip slip-streamed through her hair, slicing until black locks littered the linoleum. She only finished until her hair brushed her shoulders. 

Isabelle stared at herself, naked, bruised, and bloodied. Her expression didn't change. The same flat eyed, mouth lax look. Eyebrows pencil thin and immobile. There was no glitter in the eyes, just a dull blackness. She gave a sudden bark of laughter and began to put on clothes. She stuffed the rest in the duffle and pulled the rest of her hair up in a spiky bun. Strands still stuck to her face but she didn't pull them away from her face. 

She wound her whip around her wrist and left the room and the store. Isabelle wandered around for a while, with the only the dead to keep her company until she found a small corner just past the lobby. Isabelle sat on the raised counter, resting against the window as her duffle cushioned her back. The rain still pounded against the windows and went streaks of lightening flew past, her eyes barely acknowledged the light. Her fists clenched hard enough to draw blood, but she she didn't avert her gaze from the window. 

A tap on she shoulder and she turned to see Sam and Gabriel. Sam didn't look as shaky as before as she eyed him up and down, then gave a little nod. Some tension left Sam's shoulders, his eyes a bit brighter but not by much. Gabriel gestured to the doors that Isabelle had ignored previously. Isabelle unwound herself from her perch and followed them out the double doors. They stopped at the lobby. A few people slumped onto the ground, the desk clerk's head face down on his keyboard. Sam's gaze swept through the grand entrance before he bowed his head for a few minutes. When he lifted his head back up, his eyes were dry and set but his voice and shoulders tired.

“Lets get the hell out of here.”

The rain pounded at them the moment they stepped foot out of the hotel, yet none of them hurried to get inside the car. Isabelle slid into the back, watching the hotel get smaller and smaller from the rear window. The thick, pouring rain crashed against her vision, the lightening doing nothing to help, even as it showed an empty lot the farther they moved down the road. Isabelle shrugged and closed her eyes, going to sleep.  
_______________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	20. Fistful of glitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own, never will.   
> Warnings: violence, language, in-universe religion smacking, and a few creeper moments.  
> AN: Don't know much about medicine, cars, or geography.  
> Word Count: 33,198  
> Enjoy!

“Go a bit faster please.”

“Going as fast as I can.”

“Well you need to go faster.”

“Look you wanna drive?”

“Actually-”

“Turn ahead!”

Dean swerved sharp at the curve in the road. The blue pick-up truck leaned heavy on the right. Sparks scattered as the truck's side skimmed the guard-rail. Dean jerked the wheel, turning it hard. It strained beneath Dean's hands as he fought to keep it where he wanted it. The wheels on the left side hovered in the air for a moment. Dean angled the truck and it began to tilt back onto the road. Just as the two left wheels touched down, the car behind them rammed the truck's bumper. Truck bed shaking, Dean's hands scrambled to regain control of the steering wheel as they shot forward. A sudden crunch of metal came from somewhere behind. Cas peered out his window.

“I think that was the tailpipe.”

“Great.” Dean grit out.

Clary clutched her seat belt tighter. “What if we tried to switch lanes, then when the car comes along we swerve-”

“That won't work, they'll just do the same thing.”

“But-”

“Just watch-”

Another jolt from behind. Clary lurched as forward as her seat belt would allow. Her head jerking too quick for her to pull back from and the sudden nausea made her see stars. Cas huffed from the impact as he slammed forward, hands bracing on the headrests on Dean and Clary's seats. He wasn't wearing a seat belt. A whine from somewhere behind made Cas and Clary look back as Dean strained forward, eyes on the road. The glare of the other car's headlights shone in the truck's rear window like a lighthouse's beacon. Cas squinted as Clary brought up her hand. The other driver turned their hazard brights on.

“Son of a bitch!”

Dean jerked the steering wheel hard. The truck swerved, twitching in between lanes as Dean cursed. The windshield lit up from reflected light, perfectly illuminating the inside of the truck. The car rammed again and its tires squealed in a long, windy screech. The truckbed groaned and Dean lost control of the wheel. The glaring lights went down, softer and at an angle, so that only the sides and top of the trunk were bright. Dean blinked, hands scrabbling for the steering wheel. The whole truck shuddered as if had come to life, trying to inch its way along without traction. The back end of the truck tilted forward. Cas's palms pressed even deeper into the seats, fingers curling across the material with white knuckles. His feet skimmed the floor. Maellartach and back packs slid off the the backseat. Clary clapped a hand to her mouth, breathing through her nose.

“Are they beneath us?” Cas asked.

Clary nodded, pulling her hand away after a minute. “The front part anyway.”

Dean clutched the wheel, cussing up a storm. He peered through the windshield. His eyes widened and Clary followed his line of sight. The road went down to a steep drop, something that flickered red hinted at the edges of their vision below the hill. 

“I have an idea.” Clary said. 

“Shit! Hang on.” 

Dean grabbed the stick shift, changing gears as they barreled down the hill. The car halfway beneath them fishtailed. Dean paled as their front tires screamed. A sharp crack as the car's windshield began to give. 

“What's your idea?” Dean asked.

“This.” 

Clary opened the glove box, hands swimming inside it before pulling out the silver Beretta 9mm with pearl grips. She waved it with one hand. Dean did a double take.

“Are you serious?” He shouted.

“You drive and I'll shoot.”

“Do you even know how to use one?”

“I'll figure it out. We're going too fast for me to use my stele.”

“What are-”

“Dean, the bottom of the hill.” Cas said.

Cas nodded at the windshield. The flashing red light morphed into a distinct shape as they got closer. A fire truck blocked the road, parked length wise. People hurried around it. 

“Why the hell not?” Dean said. “Ok, kid. Shoot when I tell you to.”

Clary nodded. She fiddled with the safety. Her fingers gave a little jump as they clicked it off. Dean glowered. He took one hand off the steering wheel just as Cas's hand slipped from the head rest. His palm slapped the horn as Dean prepared the gun for Clary. 

“Jesus! Dammit Cas!”

“Dean, we ne-”

Clary fumbled with the gun before gripping tight. Dean twisted the wheel to a hard right, tires thunking into the car's roof. 

“Everybody lean forward. Cas, keep your hand on the horn.”

The truck tilted just a bit more as the car fishtailed in earnest. Dean grabbed the emergency break and pulled hard. Clary ducked down, undoing her seat belt and crawled over Dean's lap. He grunted, her hands gripping the handle of the gun. The motion freed the truck's tires. The engine squealed as it tried to slow down. The car shot out from under them and Clary sat up. Digging her knee into the inside of his thigh. Dean sucked in a breath, hard as Clary left one hand away from the gun to roll down the window. She put the hand back to the gun. Squinting through the opening of the window, she sucked in a breath. Clary's hands shook as she took the shot. The window cracked, spider webbing as tiny shards pulled loose. Dean shouted, swerving sharply as the car mirrored the movement in the opposite direction. Castiel turned in time to see the car hit a tree, intact for a split second before the front of the car crumpled with a echoing crunch. 

Dean still gripped the emergency break, momentum making them still barrel down as Dean's knuckles blanched against the steering wheel in an effort to keep it beneath his hands. They fishtailed, tires screeching, and acrid rubber-smoke curling up through the cab. Clary hung for dear life against the sides of Dean's seat, the gun clattering to the floor some where. Clary's duffle bag smacked into Cas's shoulder as the truck skimmed through the air. The wheels spun, traction-less for seconds before gravity took over and slammed them onto the pavement. Wheels screamed at the impact as the truck shuddered and bounced along the road. 

Cas still lay on the horn as they reached the last stretch of the hill. The people surrounding the ambulance and a few other cars littered behind them, scrambled to move out of the truck's path. Clary screamed as the truck leaned far to the left, nearly upending itself as they began to slow. Reaching the bottom of the hill, they skidded to a stop, truck bed parallel and inches from a fire truck and its flashing lights. 

People began to cluster around them but Clary could see anyone that remotely looked like a fireman. In fact, they looked normal. If a bit stressed, but normal. In street clothes of thick jackets over flannel. Dirty work boots, jeans, and hoodies. Sharp laughing screams shot through the night. The people raised their weapons higher. Mostly shotguns, but a variety of handguns flashed up. Hatchets and knives. Thick baseball bats, steel pipes, crow bars, even a fire poker. 

Cas shifted in his seat, twisting his head to look behind him. Clary struggled with Dean's seat belt. 

“Dean.” Castiel spat out. “Dean, the demons have gotten out of the car.”

“What?” he said in a too loud voice.

Castiel raised his voice higher. “Demons. The demons are coming for us.”

“Yeah, when aren't they?”

Dean and Castiel scrambled to get out. Clary dodged Dean's shins, scrambling to sit up. She couldn't see the demons at first. They raced to them with a speed that made Clary unable to control the scream that came out of her mouth. Dean's hands fumbled with a knife and a door handle as Cas was no longer in the backseat. One demon in a bloodied male host got there, bleeding hands outstretched at the windshield. Again, out of her peripheral vision, a man with a fire hose came forward. The thick hose shuddering in his hands. A thick jet of water shot out and hit the demon square in the chest. It flew back, flailing limbs gliding past the car windows, hands screaming and steaming. 

The man with the fire hose blasted the demon as it writhed on the ground. Another voice-possibly a man's was shouting something into a loud speaker. Thick columns of black smoke rose up and Dean nodded. He unlocked the door and scrambled out. He twisted out of the way as Clary groaned. She leaned over the seat of the car, still lying on her stomach and threw up. She barely missed Dean's shoes.

“Yeesch, what's with you and vomit?”

“Sorry.” she croaked.

“I don't want to do that again.” Cas said.

As if to agree with him, something rattled and clanked within the truck and a moment later the bumper from the truck bed detached itself and fell onto the pavement. Clary sat up and grabbed her stele from the glove box and got of of the truck. The red lights from the fire truck pulsed out a steady but frantic wave of color. Men and women didn't quite cluster around the truck. Their backs were too straight and the weapons too sure in their hands. There was a wariness in the eyes all the same as they approached, almost as if they were the frightened civilians. Clary stopped herself from rolling her eyes and snorting. The man in front of them still held the fire hose.

“They'll be back soon.” he said. “Come with us if you want to live.”

This time it was Dean who snorted. “Really?”

“Really.” The man fixed him with a stare. “Hate to break it to you, but this is the Apocalypse.”

Dean stated. “How'd you-”

A chorus of laughter stared up from somewhere behind them. An engine revved in response. The heady screech of speeding tires answered back. Cas scowled. 

“There are too many for us to take on alone.”

He shared a look with Dean. The man frowned, nodding. Almost in unison they turned to the fire hose man. 

“Lead the way.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The truck had to be towed along behind the fire truck, thick cables roped around the fender. The truck's wheels skimming the ground, that for some reason, reminded Clary of a limping dog. She was now riding in the fire truck in its tiny backseat on the far left, with Cas sandwiched in between Dean and herself. Dean was talking to the man who had used the fire hose. It turned out his name was Pedro. 

“I just can't get over how you know about demons. I mean, you guys aren't hunters and this isn't something that Joe Mechanic knows.”

Pedro laughed. “I see your point, but times are changing and we've got to change with em'.” 

The driver, James looked over the three in his rear view mirror. “What he means to say is that we just found out about this ourselves. Not too sure what its like in other towns, but as far as we can tell, the whole county is overrun.” he shook his head. ”Never seen anything like it.” 

“What did you use to do before this?” Clary asked.

“I was a gym teacher.” James frowned. “Now I hunt demons.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, ain't that the way the cookie crumbles.” He gave Cas a brief look before staring back at the two men. “So....why did demons come after you're town?”

Pedro and James shared a look. Pedro laughed. 

“Probably has to do with-”

James glared. “Don't worry your pretty head nothin', we'll get there soon enough.”

Dean glared but said noting and Clary tightened her grip on her stele.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________  
The town was small and in the early morning light, gave off a feeling of desolation. Deserted streets except for the cars that still waited to be reclaimed by their owners. They were let in from a gate and Clary gave a little start at the sound of it shutting behind them. Many streets were fenced off and the small caravan of cars the followed them all turned down what Clary assumed to be the main street. 

A church loomed up, stain glass windows somehow foggy even with the depiction of the angel within them. Clary shivered and a small tendril of calm washed over her. She smiled and gave the sensation right back. Clary peered out the windows of the truck, craning her neck to see a young woman standing outside the church. Her white dress billowed out around her legs, knees reddened and shiny. Mary-Janes or some other type of black flats. Clary could have sworn she saw a ribbon in the thick, curly blonde hair, but maybe it was the wind. 

She frowned. Was she smiling? She looked like she was smiling, like she could see Clary from inside the glass of the interior of the firetruck's cab. The girl only wore a light jacket, but then they turned down the street and she could no longer see the girl. They turned down a few more streets, until they went down a single lane road and the trees became thicker. Trees that cluttered together in random clumps. She peered out to see the beginnings of a forest as the town meandered out of focus. They turned into a long driveway, gravel spraying out in all directions from thick tires. 

What Clary mistook for some kind of trailer was in fact a garage, its door raised up to a third of the way. A couple of cars stood out amongst the clutter. A handmade sign leaned against a post. The words: 'Ben's Garage' in bold red and blue spray-painted onto the sheet metal. Clary peered forward to see a mid-sizable cabin a bit farther back from the garage. A couple of trees obscured her view. A fenced off patch of land settled on the right. She could have sworn she saw something move around in there. A couple of chickens or maybe a goat. 

A man came out from the garage. He was in jeans and a flannel shirt. His thick boots plodding over the gravel. He wiped his hands on a rag from his pockets as he went to meet them. The firetruck rumbled to a halt, its wheels spraying out the debris of the driveway. The truck swayed a bit as they made the turn. James and Pedro opened the their doors and swung out. Pedro rapped her window. Clary opened hers just as Dean did his. He slid out of the backseat and Cas followed suit.

Clary slid down out of the seat, boots touching the gravel. She frowned, one hand at her temple and another gripping the door. She shut her eyes firmly against the sudden wave of dizziness. Clary unclenched her teeth and the pain in her head lessened. She turned to her left to see that Dean and Cas were standing side by side, jacket enclosed arms brushed up against each other. 

James and Pedro and the other man, went over. The man introduced himself as the Ben from the sign. He shook hands with all of them, including Clary. They walked over to the truck. Ben whistled.

“Really did a number, eh?”

Dean laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“Alright I will.” Ben gave another laugh.

Ben peered underneath the truck bed, cheek inches from where the tailpipe used to be. A new smudge came onto his face. He stood up. Ben and Dean went back to the front of the truck and Ben lifted the hood. Cas hovered by them as the two men took a look. As they murmured to themselves, James and Pedro were unhooking the truck from the firetruck. 

Clary looked between the two duos of men and Cas, who seemed just as adrift as she was at the moment. She caught snatches of Dean and Ben's conversation. 

“Shit, ya the tranny's gone.”

“I had a feeling it was.”

“Tranny?” Clary mouthed.

Pedro, who saw, said “Transmission gearbox.”

Ben nodded despite not looking up from the hood. “Yup yup yup. Basically makes the wheels move and let's ya shift the gears. Kinda need it.” He gave wheezy chuckle.

“Speaking of, got the necessary parts?” Dean asked.

Ben rubbed his chin. “Some of them. Course a lot of it depends on what we can get from the other towns when we go out.”

“We?” Cas said.

Ben nodded. “Ya, it's really tricky to find parts the way things are right now.” 

“That and you'll have to earn your keep around here.” James put it.

Clary gave a small laugh and tilted her head. Dean's frown was brief and seemed more confused than affronted. 

“Yeah, don't worry, I planned on fixing her myself.” Dean said. “And we'll be outta your hair in no time.”

Pedro turned back to them. “Well ya'll be welcome to stay. Most out-of-towners usually do.”

“Out-of-towners?” Clary asked. 

“Ya.” James said. 

“We're gonna be movin' on as soon as the truck is finished.” Dean said.

“You're more than welcome to stay here while you do that.” Ben said. “I take a lot of out-of-towners before they go. I could use a hand with the shop.”

“Sure thing.”

Dean and Ben shook hands.   
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Cracks of harsh light forced her to open her eyes. Clary pushed herself up off the mattress, elbows shaking. The blanket that was nailed up as a curtain from the windows let in a few strands of light. The room was dim otherwise. Clary rubbed her eyes, letting them adjust. Books were stacked in little towers all over the floor. She had picked up a copy of 'Shakespeare for beginners' from the top of a stack last night. Clary found it by her feet at the edge of the bed in the morning. The bed was really two large mattresses held up by milk crates and thick boxes. The headboard wasn't attached to the mattresses but supported by its own frame. A large mirror was in its center and a crack spider webbed in a corner from the right. 

It was by far the largest piece of furniture in the room. A dresser sat across from it nearest to the door. The dark wood gleamed in some places as dust swirled in the air. Some of the drawers were open a crack, bits of clothing peeking through. A sweater here, a piece of denim there. On the nightstand on the left of the bed frame, were a few glasses of water half full. Clary pulled back the covers, groan escaping from her teeth. 

She wiped her forehead, eyes widening at the sweat that slicked her hand. Her stomach clenched in protest as she sat up. Skin seemed taunt and stretched too thin across her body. It took her a moment to realize that she was clenching her teeth. Clary opened her mouth, the saliva too sweet in her mouth. The crust at her eyes prickled her eyelashes and she rubbed her eyes again. Greasy strands of hair brushed at her face. Clary gave a little shiver. She looked up. No, the ceiling fan wasn't running. None of the car posters fluttered from a draft. Shrugging, Clary found her pants that she left on the floor and tugged them on. She finished getting dressed in silence.

Clary turned to see a door on the far left. She jiggled the knob and looked into a bathroom. Pale pinkish-white walls and creamy tiles. An overflowing hamper in the corner by the door. A hook held a single ratty towel and the bathtub had a few rings around its drain. Strands of dark hair clung to the sides of the tub. Clary cradled the shower head in her palm. It wiggled a bit but the nozzle stayed in place. She gave a little smile. Clary moved back into the room, opened the door, and went out into the hall. It was just as cluttered in the living room as it was in the guest bedroom. Books stacked wherever there was a space. Old toolboxes, crates with various odds and ends, and what looked like old tack gear. Clary picked up a book about farming techniques, and gave it a brief flip through before putting it back next to the book about horse breeding. 

A quick peek in the kitchen showed dishes piled high amongst boxes of old take out and pizza. A pile of maps and what looked like blueprints cluttered the kitchen table. The thin out outline of car bodies in white lines. She tilted her head, pushing the blueprints aside in favor of the maps. A few towns were circled in red, with arrows pointing the freeway symbols. The town map of Harmony, Minnesota staring up at her. Blue X's littered the map. One in particular blocked off a long side street that eventually led to a county road. Clary frowned. 

She went outside through the kitchen's back door. The screen door closed behind her with a tinny bang but no one came to investigate. The backyard was spacious, with no real dividing lines except for a small section fenced in with chicken wire. A little garden inside it. A few chickens and a couple of goats milled around. An outhouse stood a ways off, splashes of blue paint against otherwise bare wood. Edges of woods close by, trees clumped together. Car parts strewn about the dying grass. Cars themselves, rusted and worn stood silent in their places. Clary peered into their windows, empty seats clean of debris. 

Her boots crunched on dead leaves, their colors finally starting to dull into brown. It was quiet. She stood in a sea of cars. A bird chirped from far away. In the still chill air she breathed deep, ignoring the sudden ache in her chest. It was like she was the only person alive under the great gray sky. Shuddering, she turned and walked to the front where she caught the strain of voices.

“Pass me the socket wrench will ya?”

“The what?”

“The socket wrench.”

“Uh...this one?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean cleared his throat. “So uh this could take awhile.”

“I figured. Didn't you say this was an important part of the engine?”

“Yeah. Yeah, and it figures it would get busted. Right when we need to haul ass. Find Sam.”

“Yeah. Dean, we'll find him.”

Dean gave a short, sharp laugh. 

“Really.” Cas said. “I know it may seem like cold comfort, but I know he wouldn't die so easily.”

“Not as easily as other folks huh? Might as well as gift wrapped them to Lucifer-” He scoffed, a deep scratching noise from the back of his throat.” “Should've-”

“Should've what? Had the gift of foresight? How were any of us supposed to know what Lucifer had been planning to do?” Cas stepped closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean. “What happened in Idris wasn't your fault.”

Dean didn't reply but stared at Cas, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hard and glittering. Cas stared back, eyes too bright and wide. Clary cleared her throat. Dean jumped, Shoulders jolting as he sprang back from Cas, his hands trembling as they brushed the pockets of Cas's trench coat. Cas himself blinked as if coming out of a long sleep and he stared at Dean and then Clary out of the corner of his eye. He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before dropping his hand. She got closer to the two. They kept staring at her. 

“Cas is right. There's no way you could have known. That anyone could have known.” She sighed. “So, we gotta get to Sam right?”

“No matter what.”

“Well then tell me the date.”

Dean blinked. “Oh...November 21st. Why?”

She shrugged. “Just curious. If we want to leave-”

A long metallic shudder made her stop. The garage door was trembling up and down. Ben fiddled with the cord that controlled the door. It gave another screeching heave and it didn't quite drown out Ben's cursing. 

“How long do you think this will take?” Clary asked.

Dean gave a little hum as Clary and Cas cast glances at him. “Probably about a week.” 

“Really?”

Dean nodded. “Getting all the parts is gonna take the most time.” He huffed. “It'd be better to just get a new ride altogether.”

“No.”

Clary started at just how firm her voice was. Bright and sharp in her throat was the sound that came up and formed the word that shot out from her mouth. Dean gave a slow little rock back on his heels and rested on his haunches. The wrench in his hand is limp and shining. It's his hands that have the grease marks. His green eyes sparked in a way she wasn't sure she understood. Cas tilted his head, a little frown on his face. He kept staring and she sucked in a breath. 

“I-it's just that this is Luke's truck.” she cleared her throat. “Was Luke's truck.”

Dean's eyes cleared. “I'll see what I can do, but no promises.” 

“That's all I ask.”

Ben's voice cut through the air in a wordless shout. All three looked up to see Ben waving his arms, waving them over. Dean set down his tool as Cas's hands balled into fists for a moment before relaxing. Clary wobbled a moment, hands gripping the sides of the truck, and then when her vision cleared, followed the two men. Jogging to the garage, she watched Ben fiddle with a CB radio. It crackled as voices buzzed back and forth. Ben gripped the handle of the device, thumb pressed down on the button as he replied back. The trio clustered around Ben, who sat on a swivel stool, hunched over the radio. Clary rubbed her arms as Cas and Dean exchanged glances. 

“What is your location?”

“On route now.” A voice replied.

“Headed my way?”

“Yes. We'll need all the hands we can get.”

“Will do. Stand by.”

Ben swiveled around in his stool to face them. His mouth was set in a firm line, eyebrows drawn down tight over his forehead. Their bushiness spiked around bloodshot blue eyes. His mustache bristled over very pink lips. After a moments regard, he nodded to the radio. 

“They need you.” 

Dean nodded and Ben returned the gesture. Ben turned back into the radio and spoke into the receiver. 

“Swing on by.”

“Will do. Be ready. Over.”

Ben put the receiver down. He stood up. “Grab your gear. I have a few things that you're more than welcome to use.” 

“Thanks.” 

The two men, one angel, and young woman scrambled around the garage. Cas followed Dean to the truck and grabbed a duffle bag from the truck bed. Clary patted her pockets, finding her stele in her jacket pocket. Jogging to the glove compartment, her hands groping inside for her seraph blade. Her fingers slipped against the chill tube of metal until Clary got enough of a grip to yank it out and out in the pocket opposite of her stele. 

Dean was handling a shot gun just as a white van pulled up. Ben rushed out, hands gripping something that dangled out from his fingers. The sliding door from the van rolled back with a slam. Ben tossed the trio what was in his hand. Clary let an intricately carved pendant hang in between her fingertips. Odd letters scrawled in a looping script across a crude wooden disc. Ithuriel shuddered inside her and Clary sent a wave of calm in response.

“They're charms to ward against demons.” Ben said. 

The occupants inside the van shouted, waving their arms. Ben gave them the thumbs up gesture and then gestured to the trio. 

“Go go go go.” To the van, “I'll be on standby, channel two.”

Clary shrugged, putting the charm in the pocket of her jeans and hurried after Dean and Cas. As soon as both feet were inside, the door was slammed shut behind her. Tiny swirls of air fluttered around her boots as the door skimmed past her jeans. The van roared forward and Clary rocked back, only to have a pair of arms reach out and steady her. 

“Easy there.”

A matronly woman sat across from her, balanced on her haunches. A rifle leaned on her shoulder and a first aid kit rested between her feet. Clary scooted closer to her, as the woman's hand still hovered by Clary's shoulders. When she got close enough, the woman lowered her arm to shake Clary's hand. 

“Bess Saunders. Head medic of the Episcopalian Church Militia.”

“Clary Fray.” 

“Good to know you.” She gave a little smile. “And since I'm short staffed, you'll be with me.” 

“I will?”

Bess gestured to the small group of armed people huddled in the van. Everyone squatted, hands on their weapons or to steady someone beside them. An even mix of men and women, all with an expression of dread to a varying degree. The only one who looked the least bit enthused was a young man shaking Dean's hand with a vigorous motion. His stage whisper carried all the way in the van.

“Kelly Maher. Man, it's an honor to meet a real hunter, sir.”

Dean groaned. “Ah, kid-”

“No, seriously. It's a real morale boost to know that we've got professionals on our side.”

Cas cleared his throat and a man on his near left shook his head.

“Ignore Kelly. He's a little too gung ho for his own good.”

Kelly wilted for just a moment, casting a glance to Dean from beneath his eyelashes. Dean suppressed an eye roll.

“We all used to be rookies once.” He ground out. 

Kelly brightened, gaze going back and forth between Dean and Cas. The shine didn't dim from his eyes despite the wary glances Dean and Cas kept exchanging. He kept chattering to the two of them until another man interrupted Kelly to address Dean and Cas. 

“The two of you are with us. We're a little...understaffed at the moment.”

“And Clary?” Cas asked. 

“Bess?” The man called.

“Yes?”

“Is Clary with you?” He asked.

“Yes.” Bess addressed Dean and Cas. “I'll take good care of her.”

Dean stared at her for a few moments, but she met his gaze evenly. He nodded to Cas, who was looking at Clary, who gave her own little nod to the angel. Cas's attention was then pulled back to Kelly, who leaned forward to engage with Cas as soon as eye contact was made. Clary watched for a moment before turning back to Bess. 

“So...” She cleared her throat. “What is it exactly that I'm supposed to do?”

Bess smiled. “We're to provide support and remove the wounded from the field. If we can that is.” She put a hand on Clary's shoulder again. “Just follow my lead and you'll do just fine.”

“Right.”

The radio from the front of the van crackled, static sharp in the cramped air. The van made a turn and Clary and Cas lurched a little bit more than the others. Clary shut her eyes tight against a moment of queasiness. Bess grip tightened on her shoulders and Clary opened her eyes to see a look of concern. 

“You ok?” 

Clary gave a shaky exhale and nodded. Bess set her jaw in assent, but her eyes seemed determined and curious. The van stopped. A woman behind Clary opened the sliding door. She got out first and motioned for the others. People got out in pairs. Dean and Cas came out third, with Kelly and the man who scolded him earlier. Clary and Bess emerged last. Bess gave a thumbs up to the woman who opened the door. Both woman adjusted their respective radio phones. 

“Channel three.” The woman said. 

“Roger that.” Bess said. 

“Good luck out there.” 

“You too.” 

The woman turned the safety off of her rifle. Bess adjusted her pack and handed a bulky first aid kit to Clary. Bess eyed Clary up and down before taking a knife out of her pack and strapping it to Clary's boot. Without a word, Bess turned and jogged forward. Clary took off after her. 

The fog settled in thicker, but the sound of Bess's boots told Clary where she was. She huffed, trying to keep pace. Clary tried to wipe the sweat from her forehead, but had to lower it as Bess sped up. Clary got to Bess's side. Leaves fluttered around her feet. They crouched behind a tree. Clary's heart pounded. Shapes slunk through the fog and Clary's heart beat even faster. She turned to look at the older woman. Bess put a finger to her lips and pointed to the lawn in front of them. 

“It's the others.” She whispered.

Even with Bess's mouth pressed against Clary's ear, she still strained to hear. 

“We stay in the rear.” She said. 

“So we're a defensive line?” Clary asked.

“Yes. But we have to inch closer if we see any injured.” She paused. “Or, one of us will while the other holds the line.” 

“Ok.”

Clary shivered inside her jacket. The air had not warmed and the gray sky did not brighten. She could just make out a cabin a few hundred feet away from them. A few dull flashes from the weaponry of their group came and went. Clary wiped the sweat from her forehead and the palms of her hands on her jeans. The air stilled. Soft crunching sounds came from ahead of them, a light echo made her head spin. Clary felt in her pockets for her stele and seraph blade. She tightened her grip on them. A falling leaf brushed her hair and she jumped. 

A scream bolted through the air before cutting off just as a gunshot rent the air. Bess and Clary lifted their heads up. A flash illuminated the surroundings. Clary caught a glimpse of Dean shooting a large man with black eyes. Kelly was kneeling on the ground, hands red and bare. A flurry of gunshots as more demons surged around a cluster of people. Kelly rose up, limbs in a crazy sweeping motion as he picked up the hatchet. A trio of demons surrounded Cas, their hands empty but eyes full of hate. Kelly and Dean turned. Dean rushed forward in the same moment that Kelly flung his hatchet. 

Clary gasped as the hatchet skimmed past Dean's jaw and buried itself in the back of the demon nearest Cas. It dropped at the angel's feet. Dean rushed to the two remaining demons, feinting to the side. Cas darted to the side, body checking the demon nearest to him. He stabbed the demon in the throat before it could fall. It lit up from the inside for a brief moment before crumpling to the ground. The remaining demon snarled as the second one struggled forward. It stood up and whirled to face Kelly. 

The boy's eyes widened. The third demon moved at the same time Dean did. Dean began shouting at Kelly. Kelly shook his head and Dean gave another shout. Cas dashed to assist Dean as the last demon darted back and forth between them. The first demon charged at Kelly. Kelly bolted. 

Clary stood up straighter. Spine stiffened and legs cramped. She swayed, giving breathy little pants. They were headed right for them. Kelly, with his legs pumping and arms flailing. Bess was shouting but the words were garbled to Clary. Kelly stumbled away from the demon's outstretched arms. He tumbled down the slight incline, scrabbling by Clary's feet. The demon shot forward. Bess sat up, one knee firmly on the ground as she bent the other. Gripping her rifle tight, she aimed at an angle and hit the demon right in the chest. It flung backwards from the force and landed on its back, feet hitting Kelly's sneakers. He shouted, voice almost covering up the squelching of the ax further digging into the demon's back. Bess began to chant. 

The language both commanding and strangely lilting, Clary shuddered as Ithuriel squirmed. Black smoke poured from the demon's mouth. The throat seemed to choke all on its own, limbs twitching before going still. Bess sighed. She slackened for a moment as Kelly sat back up. Clary panted. The exorcism still rattled around in her ears. Bess took another breath and she gripped her gun tight. 

“Kelly grab your ax. This fight isn't over yet. Clary patch him up before he moves out. I'll cover you two.”

“Ah ok.” Clary tugged at Kelly's sleeves. “Where you hurt?” 

Kelly gave a little shrug. “Can't feel much of anything right now.” He let out a shaky laugh. “Cept' my heart. Jesus.”

“Yeah, yeah I feel ya.”

Clary and Kelly went over to the felled demon, turning it over onto its stomach. The hatchet buried deep in the back. Blood still welled up, dribbling down the striped shirt. Thick copper tang clogged up Clary's nose and her head swam. She choked, bile crawling up her throat. Clary paused, hands slapped over her mouth. Taking several deep breaths from her nose, Clary willed her muscles to move. She looked over at Kelly and slowly pulled her hands away from her face and gripped his arm.

“On three ok?”

“Yeah.”

They counted in unison. Kelly's hands shook as he grabbed the handle. Clary steadied the shoulders. Her neck prickled, protesting at the stiff way it was held. The face of the dead host stared out of her peripheral vision. Droplets of sweat plopped down onto the dead man's face, pooling in the hairs on his chin. Kelly's shoulders shook as he wrestled with the ax's handle. The shoulders jutted from side to side and Clary's knees knocked about as she tried to keep the body pinned underneath her grip. Her teeth chattering, Clary threw her whole weight into the shoulders, and the spasms lessened. They trembled up around her as she leaned down. 

Kelly managed to pull the ax free and the body jolted up. Clary pulled up with a shriek, nearly smacking into the man's forehead. Kelly and Clary backed away. She led him behind the tree she and Bess originally hid behind. 

“Ok, where are you hurt?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Umm...I think I'm alright. Just some cuts.”

“Here let me see.”

She grabbed his hands and turned them over. The blood had concealed enough for her to see the cuts that crisscrossed along his palms. Clary winced and went for the first aid kit. The mini water bottle went first and Kelly watched her pour it on his hands. Water came away pink and the cuts clear. Clary grabbed the antiseptic, unscrewing the cap. Another scream shot through the air. Clary jumped, splashing the iodine all over Kelly's hands. Kelly gave a little yelp, pulling his hands away as Clary pulled back.

“Sorry.”

“It's ok, just-”

A snatch of laughter carried over the response of the exorcisms. Clary dropped the antiseptic back in the kit and fished for the needle and thread. A column of black smoke spiraled up into the air, veering in their direction. Bess shouted out more of the exorcism chant. Fingers trembling, she managed to get the thread into thin loop of the needle before dropping it in a pile of leaves. Clary's hands darted for the thread, pushing aside piles of leaves. Her fingers wriggled in the chilly dirt. The black smoke swooped low, a screeching keening echoing in her ears. Clary flung her hands out of the leaves and went to her pockets. 

She fumbled for her stele. Clary pulled it out of her pocket at the same moment the demon smoke shot down to meet them. Kelly yelled, scrambling for the hatchet as Clary dived for him. She covered him with her arms, shoulder hovering over his head. Her fist gripping her stele hovered over Kelly's hands. The smoked brushed her hair. The smell of rot and the sound of laughter surrounding her. Clary gritted her teeth. 

Fury rose up in her, flooding her limbs. Head spinning, she gripped her stele tighter, heat flowing from her arm into the slim stick. From far off, Kelly yelped, but Clary's awareness melted into anger. In her mind's eyes wings were shooting up, ready to take flight. Her back cracked, flinging her head up. She stared up at the faces in the smoke. Tiny pinching mouths, screaming twists of hair and fingers. Clary caught the look of surprise before the smoke was flung back, spiraling back upwards and darting away. 

The fury left as quickly as it came. Clary slumped, hands unclenching and she pulled away from Kelly. He blinked, looking around. Clary panted, shoving her stele back into her pocket just as Kelly looked down at their hands. She leaned back and Kelly whistled. 

“Oh thank God that's over.” he gave a strange little laugh. “Man, if it wasn't for you, I'd be a goner.” He stared at her, brown eyes big and wobbling. “Seriously thank you.”

Clary flushed. “No big deal, really. You'd have done the same.”

Now it was Kelly's turn to flush. He looked down at his hands. A split second frown before his eyes widened. Stars burst in Clary's vision as her chest ached in tandem with her back. Some deep ache she couldn't describe, couldn't tell where it began of ended.

“Are you alright?” She asked Ithuriel.

“Weary but unharmed. You?”

“The same.”

“My hands.” Kelly said.

Clary blinked. “What?”

“My hands.” He held them up. “Look.”

Clary glanced at them and then did a double take. His palms were red, almost like they were minor burns but there were no cuts. Only light lines where there would have been cuts. Almost like a faded shadowhunter scar. She grabbed his hands, twisting them back and forth, thumbs pressing into his palms. 

“Does that hurt?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. It's a miracle.” he whispered.

“I...”

“Are you ok?”

Clary's head buzzed. “We're ok.”

Kelly blinked. “Yeah...yeah we are.” He laughed. “We're ok.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The van rattled as the CB radio chattered back and forth with the man in the passenger seat. The number of people had been lessened by two, with only about five injured. Ben's voice crackled across the radio waves, voice sharp and tense. Man in the passenger seat relayed the information to the man behind him. The man partnered with Kelly was speaking.

“Alright listen up. We've taken care of one area now we need to take care of another. It's near the east half of the old highway roundabout. Since we'll have to go back through town, we'll drop off the wounded and resupply.”

“The wounded go with me.” Bess said. To Clary she said, “You'll be coming with me. I'll need the extra hands.” 

“Sure thing.”

Kelly's partner turned to Dean. “You and your friend are still needed with us.” To Kelly he said, “You'll go with Bess to get checked out.”

“But-” 

“Enough. Father won't be pleased if you are badly hurt.”

Kelly glanced at Dean and Cas. “I can handle it. Please.”

“We'll take out a few for you.” Dean said.

Kelly frowned for a moment before nodding. “Alright I guess. I mean if it'll put you guys at ease.” He brightened. “Oh, I know Dad's gonna wanna thank you guys. Come back with the rest of them, instead of going back to Ben's.”

“Dad?” Dean asked.

Kelly's partner smiled. “Father Maher. He's our shepard in our fight against evil. He really will want to thank you.”

“Uh right.” Dean said. 

The van took another sharp turn and went down the town's main street before making yet another turn and stopping in front of a church. The door woman opened the sliding door. Bess and Clary herded the ones who could walk out of the van. Kelly adjusted his pack, waved at Dean and Cas, and jumped out of the van. People streamed out of the church. Men and women with rifles rushed to the van. A man in black with a small square of white at his collar hovered by the doors of the church, eyes darting. The priest. A woman beside was clutching his arm, tendons standing out in her wrists. Probably his wife.

They spotted Kelly. The woman squeezed the man's shoulder before waving her arms. Kelly turned and saw them. He gave a little smile. They both smiled back and the man gave Kelly a little nod. 

“Help me with him.” Bess said.

“Right. I can grab his feet.” Clary replied. 

Together they hoisted the only wounded man who was unconscious. Clary went out first, head turning far enough for her neck to crick as she shuffled backwards out the van. Her boots floundered for a moment as they hovered over the air for a second. Her boot hit the ground with a thump. 

“Gently, gently.” Bess said. 

Clary set her other foot down much slower and shuffled back to let Bess out of the van. When they got clear of the van, a trio of women slid into the van. They called out greetings to Bess and the others returning. Clary eyed the pavement, a devil's trap spray painted on the walkway. As she passed over it, her muscles gave a little twitch. She sent a calming wave to Ithuriel. Others gave them a wide berth as they went inside. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kelly embrace the priest and his wife. 

In the church doors, Bess directed them. They moved past pews and into a side door on the left by the front of the alter. The hall was long and led them to a kitchenette and a dining hall. A few teenagers were using the stove. An elderly man was putting food onto plates. In the dining hall children were either cleaning guns or preparing bullets. A few adults supervised them, walking between the rows of tables to check on their progress. 

“First door on the right.”

Clary fumbled with the doorknob and scuttled inside. The lights were already on, fluorescent giving off a quiet hum. It probably used to be a break room. A slim table was in the center, as though it had been brought in from another room a small circular table next to it. A cot shoved up against a wall opposite a sink with a counter. The counter was cluttered with things that wouldn't look out of place in a lab of some kind. The only things Clary readily recognized was a microscope and test tube rack. A microwave was stacked on top of a mini fridge. A lone poster of the Virgin Mary decorated the walls, hands open and imploring. Delicate cursive of a psalm in between her hands and by the folds of her gown. 

“Set him on the table.” 

Clary and Bess set the man on the table. He gave a small little groan. The paper shield guard crinkled underneath his body. Bess set down her pack and Clary took her first aid kit.

“He'll need stitches.” Can you patch him up while I test for responsiveness?”

“Sure.”

Clary cleaned the wound, put the thread through the needle, and after a moment's hesitation put the needle into the skin. Clary swallowed as the skin gave protest with a slight puckering noise. The thread snicked inside the hole from the needle. The gash rang length wise from elbow just above the wrist, but the flesh gave minimal resistance. The two sides of open skin pressed back together under the command of thick black stitching. Dots of blood welled where the needle pricked. Clary wiped away any blood with a wet towel before finishing the stitches. Bess handed her a roll of bandages and some tape. 

As soon as they finished with him, Bess directed them to more patients. They patched up a majority of them in the dining hall. Children too small to help with the guns or cooking raced around the tables or the legs of any adults too busy to shoo them away. A few kids stopped in their games to stare at Clary, peering up at her with big eyes. One little girl came to her with scraped knees. Clary set her down on a chair. She washed the ruddy knees, patting the little bumps when the girl keened. Her dark waxy hair swaying as she shook her head when Clary applied antiseptic cream. She insisted on the Hello Kitty band aids. Clary smiled at the shy 'thank you' before she dashed off with her friends. They were lucky that only a few needed to lie down. Clary didn't bother to keep track of the time. At a lull, Clary leaned against a long table. 

Bandages and a lone can of Pepsi brushed her fingers as she kept the palms of her hands flat on table. She gave another shaky breath before reaching for a pile of napkins. Clary wiped her forehead. Bess cleared her throat. Clary looked back to see the older woman stared back with an eyebrow raised.

“Right. Time for your examination.”

“What?”

“Proper procedure for out-of-towners.” Bess gave a little frown. “Everyone gets examined.”

“Oh...ok.”

Bess's shoulders relaxed and Clary realized the woman was tenser than she initially realized. Bess gestured to go back the break room with a sweep of her hand. Clary followed her in the old break room. First Bess recorded Clary's BMI and vision.

“Ok go ahead and sit down on the table.”

Clary obeyed. She adjusted, shuffling in her seat. Paper beneath her crinkled and she sound made her rub her arms. Bess grabbed her stethoscope, blood pressure pump, and a few other things. She tested Clary's reflexes.

“I'm going to do the basics and ask you some questions.” 

“Ok. Shoot.”

Bess smiled. She grabbed a slim penlight and flashed it in Clary's eyes. Her eyes followed.

“Have you been sick recently?”

Clary nodded. “Pretty bad. All three of us were, but I think I'm the only one still not over it.”

Bess gave a little hum. She replaced the penlight with a stethoscope. She moved away a part of Clary's shirt, and Clary slid down the rest of the flannel to her elbows. Bess scooted closer to Clary and tugged her stethoscope close. Clary shivered when its metal touched her chest. 

“Ok breath in, deep breaths....now breath out. Good.”

Bess frowned, turning the scope over to Clary's back and repeating the process. 

“Ok your breathing is a little labored. Your heart is beating faster than it should. Do you feel any tightness in your chest?”

Clary shrugged. “Kind of. Like, I get dizzy and have headaches. It's not really painful per se, I just feel...ugh.”

“Alright, Well I'm going to check your blood pressure now.”

Bess replaced the stethoscope with the blood pressure valve pump. A long patch of Velcro from the strap that Bess was currently winding around Clary's arm. A small, compass like instrument adhered to the strap. The thing black tube that ended in the pump was in Bess's fist, being worked by the older woman's thick hand. The pressure squeezed Clary's arm, pins and needles sensation running all the way down her fingertips. Her shoulders gave a little slump when the pressure lifted, but Bess looked at her reading with a frown. 

“What?”

“This is a little odd for someone of your size.”

Bess repeated the process and got the same result. Clary tilted her head. Bess replaced the blood pressure kit with a thermometer. She too Clary's temperature. Her frown deepened and Clary held back from asking. 

“How persistent does this temperature feel?”

“A couple of days I think.”

“Right well, I'm going to take a blood sample for testing. Rule out anything serious.”

“O-ok.”

Bess grabbed a needle and syringe. Clary only looked out of the corner of her eye as Bess tied off her forearm and took a swatch of rubbing alcohol in the inside of her forearm. Bess Slid the needle into Clary's forearm and Clary turned her head away entirely. She sucked in a breath. 

“We're almost done.”

A sharp rap on the door was the only warning before it opened. Clary jumped, the thin needle wiggling inside her. Bess didn't move, drawing the blood from her without looking as she glanced up to see who had interrupted. It was the priest. She finally got a good look at him now that she could. 

He was definitely Kelly's father. It was a clear blueprint for how the young man would one day age. The same jawline, thick and defined. Cheekbones that could go on for days, although on the Father, they were getting a bit thick. His hair had a streak of gray in otherwise brown hair. The build was of a man slightly gone to seed. Broad shoulders that seemed smaller by his black garb. Said cassock hid with was probably a lithe frame, with only age to hinder it. A five o' clock shadow made him seem older than he was, despite the crow’s feet and laugh lines on his face. 

“Sorry for the interruption.” Brown eyes winked back at her.

Bess gave a little huff. “Not too sorry I take it.” She gave a little laugh. “Wanted to see the out-of-towners for yourself?”

“You see right through me, as always.” He smiled. To Clary he said, “I’m Father Duncan Maher. It’s nice to meet one of the people who saved my son's life. You have my gratitude and my debt.” 

Clary flushed. “I'm Clary Fray. It's nice to meet you too. It’s no big deal. He's pretty brave.”

Father Maher's smile brightened. “That he is. I just saw your two friends. Just thought I'd let you know, you're invited to dinner with us. I came to pick you two up if you’re done.”

Bess nodded. “That we are.”

Clary looked back down at her arm to see that the needle had been removed and a small lump of cotton wrapped in gauze had taken its place. She blinked.

“Wow I didn't even feel that.”

Bess laughed. “You’re welcome.”

Clary adjusted her shirt and hopped off the table. Father Maher have a small 'after you' gesture and Clary exited first. She looked back to see Bess put the vial of her blood the small refrigerator before following her out.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

The table was laid out for exactly seven. At least three meats. Ham, turkey, and pork. The platters were spacious, juices pooled in the dips in the plate. The meat saturated in glaze. A few slices of pineapple on roast ham. Slim turkey in precise cuts and piled to the sides of the plates. A small plate of sliced apples next to the platter of pork. The carver and knives gleamed in the low light from the chandelier above them. Salad tongs shimmered amongst the crisp green leaves and chunky croutons. At least three different dressings. Ranch, Italian, Thousand Island. A plate of corn of the cob, still buttery and steaming. The prongs at each end of the corn already pressed in. On the left, a bowl of creamy mashed potatoes. A dish that indented three ways held three kinds of rice. White, Spanish, and Cajun-style. Asparagus and apple sauce were put side by side. Biscuits and butter, all golden and crisp sat on a blue patterned china. A couple pitchers of tea were on each side of the table. 

Father Maher sat at the head of the table. His hands clasped together, wrists balancing the table's edge. His wife, Marcia Maher was smoothing her napkin down on her lap. She sat on Father Maher's right and on his left was the younger girl Clary saw the other day. Father Maher gave a small smile. 

“Alright, look like some introductions are in order. For those who don't know,” He gave a little laugh. “Father Duncan Maher. My wife Marcia, my...youngest son Kelly. And this pretty girl is our daughter Alice.” 

Marcia scowled at the mention of the youngest son, but said nothing. Alice gave a little smile, cheeks bright and pink. She ducked her head and stared at the guests out of the corner of her eye. Father Maher gave an indulgent smile in her direction, eyes soft as her stared at her hair ribbon.

“And how could I forget our Bess Sauders. The best nurse I've ever seen.”

Bess, who was seated next to Clary, gave her own little laugh. She gave a mock salute.

“And her new assistant Clary Fray and her two friends Dean and Cas.”

Dean gave a little nod and Cas watched the gesture before mimicking it. Dean shifted in his seat. Cas didn't quite mimic the gesture but his eyes swept around the table. Everyone murmured pleasantries. 

“Shall we say grace?” Father Maher. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“Can I?” Alice asked.

Father Maher beamed. “Of course you can sweetheart.”

“Our Father full of grace, bless this bounty that you have given us. Praise be in Your name for all things in this house, with this company, and our table.” 

She looked up at the rest of table and smiled. Clary sat up straighter. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Cas tilt his head at Dean's half smile. The candlelight made her eyes look amber. Her smile didn't leave her face. The china clattered together with tinny applause as cutlery scraped against the plates. Cas looked around the table, watching everyone pile their plates high with food. Clary darted to Cas's plate but Bess kept her included in the conversation between herself and Marcia. Dean gave Cas a little nudge. Dean pointed with his fork to the spread of food. Cas watched as Dean started helping himself to seconds of turkey and ham. Cas followed suit. Slim hands fiddled with the silverware before putting them in a familiar position. Cas eyed the way Dean cut his meat and kept glancing at his own plate. He took a bite of ham in slow deliberate mouthfuls before swallowing. 

The chatter was a kind of easy quiet, no less animated, but still at ease. Clary tried to be discreet as she sniffed at her chicken before lifting it to her mouth. Kelly kept trying to catch Dean's eye, although the man was more or less keeping his glance neutral around the table. He drew up his eyes to Alice. She gave him a beatific smile he sheepishly returned. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. When he finally dropped his gaze away Father Maher was staring at him. 

“Oh, before I forget,” Bess said, “I need to examine you boys. Its protocol for out-of-towners.”

“Examine?” Dean said.

“Protocol.” Bess repeated. 

Dean was silent for a moment. “If you say so.” he said.

“I do.” Bess smiled. “So I'll have to take a supply run.”

“Alright. Take a couple of folks. How about the Geckmann's next door?” Father Maher said.

“Perfect, thanks.”

“Now, this brings me to something...somewhat serious.” His voice light. “Dean, Cas, and Ms. Fray. I'd like you three to stay here while you're with us.”

“What?” Dean asked. 

Father Maher gave a little huff of a laugh. “We have spare bedrooms for your use.”

Dean gave a little cough. “I don't think-”

“Ah c'om on.” Kelly interjected. “You and Cas can share with me.”

Marcia stood up, chair scraping behind her. She picked up her plate and balanced it on her arm. She indicated for Bess and Clary's plates. Marcia began clearing up and Bess rose to help her. Kelly handed his to his mother. She gave him a look when she saw the half eaten asparagus. Bess took Cas's plate, his hands in his lap as she grabbed it before taking Dean's. The two women walked into the kitchen, the swinging door swishing behind them in a soft whoosh of air. 

“Ah, I-”

Father Maher held up a hand. “Please before you try and say no, let me tell you, we've had our share of out-of-towners come to stay with before they moved on of found homes of their own. I know, I know Ben said you be moving on as soon as you were able, but why not stay here before you do?”

“It's not that we don't appreciate the offer but-”

Clary cleared her throat. Cas stared at the two men as Kelly leaned forward. The sounds from the kitchen came through the crack under the door. Father Maher waited for Dean to finish.q

“You don't know us. I mean, we could be anybody.”

The kitchen door opened. Marcia and Bess emerged carrying plates of pie. Dean gave a small double take. Bess laughed as Marcia set the first plate down. The scents of apples filled the room. 

“You're not the first boarders we've taken, as Bess can tell you.”

Bess nodded. “I'd be happy to let Clary room with me.” She set her dessert on the table. “It's cherry by the way. Who would like a slice?”  
Whatever Dean was about to say was choked back by his sudden smile. “Please.”

Bess took the knife Marcia handed to her, the blade gleaming and clean moments before plunging into the pie. A few swift strokes and she pulled the blade away, red smeared. She set a piece onto each plate. Gooey cherries tried to ooze out of the pie's golden crust. Kelly grabbed a plate and began to eat. He gave a closed smile despite the full mouth and gave a thumbs up. Clary giggled before taking a bite of her own slice. 

Dean picked up his own fork as Cas looked at the rest of them. Cas held his fork over his slice, prongs hovering over the crust. Dean bite into his pie. 

“Woah this is incredible.” 

Marcia laughed, voice soft and high. “Well thank you, I try.”

“You made this?” 

She laughed again, her husband joining in. Alice and Kelly exchanged smiles. Kelly winked at his little sister. Cas looked at Dean, then looked back down at his so far untouched slice of pie. He took his utensil and jabbed the slice. He sliced downwards, cutting a small piece from the end of the pie. Cas maneuvered the fork so he could spear the piece. It clung to his fork before her put it too his his lips and chewed. Cas's eyes widened. Dean almost laughed at how surprised they looked. Cas pulled the fork away. Bits of cherry still clung to the metal but Cas was still chewing, jaw and throat working in tandem. Dean watched the way the adam's apple slid before catching the way the lips puckered. Cas cut himself another piece, this time keeping the fork in his mouth a little longer. Teeth clench visibly behind the skin of the mouth, jaw flexing before Cas finally pulls away, licking his lips. Dean gaped as Cas's eyelashes fluttered for a minute before continuing to eat. He gave a thoughtful little hum.

“This is incredible. I can see why you like it so much, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. He gave a shaky smile. Cas turned to Dean. A small spattering of cherry juice at the corner of his mouth. He peered at Dean. He seemed to be unaware of how the others were staring at him. Or rather, how the others were staring at Dean's staring. Cas kept looking at the man however. 

“Dean? What is it?”

Dean gestured to his own face, pointing to his lips. “Y-you got a little...”

“Oh.” Cas wiped the side of his mouth with his thumb before sucking the last cherry drop away. “You really are a good cook Mrs. Maher, is there any more?”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Castiel peered about. Father Maher's study was spacious. Sturdy volumes of books lined his shelves. Father Maher's voice became softer and more out of focus to Castiel as he browsed the man's book shelves. He moved closer to the books. They were arranged in alphabetical order, many with glossy titles in thick hardback editions. A few were some rare bibles. He had a feeling that most of the collection here were of the theological persuasion. Castiel frowned. One appeared to be missing. A thick gap rested at the very end of the middle shelf. A smaller book leaned against the inside of the middle shelf. A thin layer of dust showed in telling lines where exactly the old book lay.

“So that's that, really.”

Dean gave a small scowl. Father Maher seemed unperturbed. Instead he nodded. 

“Really, please I insist.”

Dean turned back to Castiel and Clary. Clary gave a little shrug. Her wan face made Castiel want to put a hand on her shoulder. The grace inside her fluttered and he didn't dare respond to it, in case it should weaken her. He resolved to ask her later. Castiel never met Ithuriel before, but that didn't surprise him. 

“Why not?” Clary asked. 

Dean made a small noise of protest. Castiel turned his attention to the man. His green eyes were clouded over. He was frowning, but it was different from Dean's usual frowns. If he concentrated hard enough, Sam would be the word that would come to the surface of Dean's mind. Castiel tore himself from his spot by the bookshelf and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. It stiffened through the leather jacket and for once, Castiel thought about pulling away but suddenly the shoulder slumped and Dean nodded.

“Thanks for the hospitality.”

Father Maher beamed. “Excellent. Kelly can get your things.”   
________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean and Cas followed Kelly back to his room on the second floor. It was the second door on the left. It was warm, with a sloping roof near the end of the room, where a single window rested. The roof and window seemed to meet at point. Said window divided the two beds on the left and right sides. On the right was Kelly's bed. The green comforter was rumpled and the thick pillows haphazard against the headboard. 

Three posters lined the slanting wall on Kelly's side. Each poster was of a dramatic movie with a vintage style to them; made to appear old. Gone with the wind on the far left, Streetcar named desire, and Ben-hur on the right. A stack of records nested next to a bookcase stuffed full of DVD’s and books. An overflowing hamper in the corner. Nightstand with a laptop resting on it. One long, ratty rug on the carpet. Its colors faded despite the geometric shapes glaring up at the lone overhead light. A still fan on the ceiling. 

In contrast, the bed on the left was clean. Its sheets crisp; the bed made with military precision. This side’s bookshelf was lined with manuals. There was no music players or instruments, just one lone Bob Marley CD on top of the shelf. No posters adorned the walls. 

Dean dropped his duffle at the foot of the bed. Cas followed suit. He frowned and moved closer to the window.

“There’s someone outside. He’s staring at us.”

“What?” Dean, who was sitting on the bed, stood up and went to the windowsill. “Who?”

Kelly joined the two men. He leaned forward and pressed his hands to the sides of the glass, blocking his eyes from the indoor light. His breath fogged on the window glass. He stared for a few minutes. His whole body went tense, shoulders shook. His reflection revealed gritted teeth. Pushing himself away from the window, Kelly managed to shrug. 

“Oh, it’s just crazy Ed Waverley.” His voice sounded constricted.

“Crazy?” Cas asked.

“Yeah. Used to be real good friends with my brother-he even lived with us, until-” Kelly choked. “Till’ my brother died. Waverley’s been crazy ever since. Don’t pay him any mind.”

“How old-” Cas began.

“Sweet dreams.” Kelly clicked off the light.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________  
Bells pealed in the morning air, cutting through the early fog. The mattresses creaked. Kelly’s shape shifted in the half light. The vague but identifiable noise of human fumbling before Kelly switched on the light. Dean sat up, rubbing at his eyes with ruddy fingers. Blinking, he slapped at Cas’s shoulder. The angel was facing the wall, trench coat covering him like a blanket. Cas twisted around, squinting up at Dean. Kelly stood by his dresser scratching his belly.

“Time for work.”

“Work.” Dean said.

“Work.” Kelly repeated. He gave a sleepy smile. “Course we got morning mass.”

Dean groaned. Cas sat up. The bells still permeated the air and Kelly began to dress.

“I bet the bathroom is free. I’ll go meet you guys downstairs.” Kelly said.

Dean gave a vague wave and stood up. Cas followed suit. Neither spent long in the bathroom and they met Kelly, Bess, and Clary downstairs for breakfast. Father Maher was already setting the table, sharp cassock nary a stain on it. Marcia and Bess bustled in and out of the kitchen. When Clary went to help, Bess pressed her back down into a chair and handed her a cup of steaming liquid. Alice came trundling in, mary-janes clacking on the hardwood.

Father Maher said a hurried grace and reminded everyone present about his sermon before helping Marcia clear the dishes. As soon as Marcia disappeared into the kitchen, Father Maher approached the rest of the group.

“Now I've got a dispatch from Ben, saying he needs the extra hands for the community vans. So-”

“I can go with them?” Kelly asked.

Father Maher sighed. “Yes. It’s been quiet so far.”

“Why do you think that is?” Dean asked.

Father Maher shifted from foot to foot, expression shuttering for a moment before clearing.

“Not too sure.”

Dean eyed the man for a moment, squaring his shoulders and planting his feet. Father Maher met his gaze for a few minutes before looking away.

“Ok.” Dean said.

Father Maher blinked. “Ah, yes. Ben's on his way.” He turned to Bess. “You and Ms. Fray are on standby shift.”

“Yes Father.”

Bess gave a little salute before ushering Clary with her. Kelly tugged on Dean's arm. Dean shrugged, following the younger man, with Cas trailing behind them. They hit the chill air and walked down the street. Kelly chattering to Dean, Cas just a few paces behind them. A shadow pulled itself away from a secretive corner of the Maher house and latched onto Cas.

“Listen. You have to listen to me.”

“What?”

A man with a scruffy face-the beginnings of a beard peered up into Cas's face. Wide gray eyes and an unblemished face. He almost wore a hunter's uniform of jeans, work boots, flannel, and a heavy jacket. Except his wasn't a hunter. The gaze was too darting, too fearful. Thick brown hair ruffled in the slight breeze. He pressed further into Cas's personal space, but the angel didn't blink.

“Listen. There isn't much time.”

Cas tilted his head a little. “Time for what?”

“Look, look I used to live there too. Your room was my room-”

“The room upstairs. Last night. You're Ed Waverley.”

“At your service.” Ed's hands shook. “Now they say it was my fault. Well it was my fault, that that's why I've gone crazy. But Joseph's death wasn't my fault. Well it was-I should have protected him better, but I didn't kill him myself!”

“Ok. I'm going to leave now.” Cas began to move.

“Wait-you're in danger.”

“I will be alert.”

“No.” he grabbed Cas's arm.” She's a monster!”

“Hey!” Kelly shouted.

Red faced, Kelly stomped over to them. His lips trembled, eyes wide and glassy as he pried Ed's hands away from Cas. Dean jogged over to them, one hand half hidden behind his jacket. He glowered at Ed.

“This the guy from last night?”

“Yeah.” Kelly's eyes narrowed. “Crazy Waverley.”

“Check her room. Check her room.” Ed cried.

“Get outta here.”

Kelly shoved Ed and the man stumbled. His boots tripped over the cracked pavement and Ed's arms pin wheeled but he recovered himself. 

“Come on.” 

Kelly grabbed Cas and Dean's arms and pulled them to the street corner. 

“Look for it! It's there, I swear!” 

Ed continued to shout. Kelly ignored it as Cas glanced back and forth between the two of them. Dean watched Ed out of the corner of his eye but said nothing. A few minutes later a mud splattered jeep pulled up and honked twice.

Clary and Bess went back into the church's dining hall. Back to the re-purposed break room. Bess began to unpack her kit and Clary restocked the supplies. A jaunty rap on the door was the only notice they had before the door opened. One of the teen aged kitchen staff poked his head in.

“Uh, we kinda need an extra pair of hands. Jimmy might have burned his fingers with the crock pot.”

Clary winced. “Ouchie.”

“Go on. I''ll give a holler if I need anything.” Bess said.

“Sure thing.”

Clary followed the boy out and into the kitchen. A crock pot boiling over rested on the counter. The boy she assumed to be Jimmy was holding his hands under the running facet of the sink, tears beading down his cheeks with trembling lips. He couldn't have been more than twelve. The boy who led her to Jimmy was older, with a voice that still cracked at the end of his sentences. 

“See Jimmy, here she is. Now quit that cryin' already.”

Jimmy's lips still wobbled but he wiped his tears away with the back of his free hand. He sniffled. Clary gave him a smile. 

“Well you put your hand in cold water, that's good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clary repeated. “Now let's see here.”

Clary went to Jimmy's side and pulled his hand away from the spray of the tap. Dark pink splotches coated his palm. She gave a light press and Jimmy sucked in a breath.

“Yeah I know.”

Clary dropped his hands and pulled out the tube of ointment from her pocket. Unscrewing the cap, she put a dollop on her fingertips and then rubbed it into Jimmy's palm. He watched her with slightly puffy eyes. He gave another little sniffle.

“There. Now do you know if you've got an ice pack in the fridge?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Ok, then get one, wrap it up, and keep it pressed on your hand.”

“Kay, thanks.”

Jimmy scuttled off to the fridge. 

“You're welcome.” Clary called after him.

A girl cleared her throat. Clary turned and her mind supplied her with a name. Sally. She wore a pink shirt and a hopeful smile.  
“Sooo...now that Jimmy can't cook, do you think you could help us with lunch?”

“Sure.”

“Great were making pasta salad.”

Clary followed Sally to the table in the center of the kitchen, heaped with bowls of half mixed ingredients. Spoons and whisks, bags of noodles, and half cut vegetables. Clary took the lead of Sally and the boy who brought her into the kitchen, Tom. Another boy and girl pair, Desiree and Frankie. Together they bustled about, calling out directions to each other. Clary was in the middle of chopping carrots when Bess poked her head in. 

“Clary. Could you come into the break room?”

“Sure, just let me finish with these.”

“Now please.”

Clary stood up straighter. “Alright.”

She hurried after Bess. At the older woman's indication, Clary shut the door behind them. Bess picked up a file off the counter and turned to Clary. Her face seemed pinched. Brows drawn tight, lips unsure to move or not. Grave gray eyes staring back at her. Clary glanced down at the file in her hand before staring back up at Bess's face. 

“What is it? Demons? Are we being called back for support?”

“No.” Bess sighed. “It's your test results.”

“Oh.” Clary paled. “So...not good?”

Bess shrugged. “That depends on your definition. Congratulations. You're pregnant.”  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Ok turn it now.”

The raspy whine of a stalled engine answered him. Dean 'tsked' and went deeper under the hood of the van. The steam hissed into the air. Dean coughed, arm swiping away the steam. He peered closer at the engine, silent for a few minutes before shooting back up.

“Yahtzee.”

Cas perked up from his perch. His back straightened on his makeshift seat of a water cooler. Dean leaned, turning his head to look at Cas. Dean outstretched his left hand in a 'gimme' motion. Cas reached for the beat up tool box, hands digging around inside until he pulled out a slim wrench. 

“This one?”

“Yahtzee.” Dean said again. 

Dean grabbed the tool from Cas and then set himself back to the engine. A few crik and clangs before Dean called to Kelly.

“Ok, try it now.”

“Kay.”

Kelly turned the ignition. A sputtering before the engine turned over with a pleasant hum. Kelly gave a little cheer. Dean smiled back at the boy.

“That'll do.” He said. 

“So that's the last one before our break. Ben said so.”

“Yeah he did.” 

Kelly nodded. “I think I'll just remind him real quick.” 

He hopped out of the passenger seat and raced to Ben, who was only about fifty feet away from them. Ben nodded, grinning as Kelly rocked back and forth on his heels. 

“He is...very enthusiastic.” Cas said.

Dean laughed. “Ain't that the truth.”

“It's a little tiring and that is coming from someone who doesn't tire easily.”

“Yeah, kids like that usually are.”

“Are all kids like that?”

“Usually.”

“Hm.” Cas paused. “We're you?”

Dean gave another little huff of laughter. “Pretty sure you know the answer to that.”

Cas gave a brief smile, just a twitch of the lips and Dean grinned in response. A lull before Kelly came jogging back.

“Hey guys. What's so funny?”

“Dean was educating me on human nature.” Cas deadpanned. “It's quite an education.”

Kelly laughed. “Oh well I hope so since we have some break time.”

“I'll do you one better.” Dean said. “Come over here. I have an idea.”

“Yeah?” Kelly asked.

Dean crooked his finger and Kelly bounced along with Cas following at a more sedate pace. Walking to the same jeep that Ben drove that very morning a few hours before. Dean slid a hand along the jeep's closed hood. The other two closed the distance as Dean swung back on the frame of the driver's side of the jeep. A four door with no sides or roof to speak of with a black frame. The jeep's body was painted green, freshly washed. Wheels, thick and high, were newly pumped with air. Any patch job was well hidden in the treads. Dean peered down. He sat up and patted the steering wheel.

“Now, I'm pretty sure Kelly here can drive-”

“That I can. Had a driver's license for two years now.”

“Good that's good.” Dean cleared his throat. “So I guess Cas is the only one that needs schoolin'” 

“What?”

Dean patted the steering wheel again. Cas tilted his head.

“You want me to drive?”

“Couldn't hurt to learn.”

Cas and Kelly were silent for a few moments. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He frowned, opening his mouth when Cas beat him to it and began to speak.

“No...It couldn't hurt.”

Dean swung away from the driver's side, making a sweeping gesture to the driver's seat with his arm. Cas paused for a moment before stepping into driver's seat. Dean sat at the passenger's side and buckled up. Dean and Cas exchanged looks. Cas followed suit and buckled up. Dean tossed him the keys. Cas caught them with a small noise surprise. Dean turned back to look at Kelly, who backed away with raised hands. He eyed Cas dubiously. 

“Uh, you know, I think I'll just sit this one out.”

Dean's lips quirked. “Suit yourself.”

Kelly laughed again, nodding. He brought his hands up to his mouth, eyes moving back and forth between the two men. He stepped back and sat on the water cooler by the closest van. Kelly leaned so that his back rested against the tire. When Dean saw that Cas was buckled in, he tossed the keys to Cas. The angel caught them with a surprised flick of the wrist. Dean pointed to the ignition.

“The keys go in there. Be sure to turn it all the way.” Dean watched Cas do just that. “Yeah you got it.”

The engine turned over with a little purr.

“Ok, it’s in park now. Leave it that way for now for a sec. Good thing this isn't a stick shift. We've got ourselves a standard.”

“A standard?”

Dean nodded. “Doesn't have the gears.”

“There are gears?”

Dean gave a little grin. “Exactly. Now, breaks on your left and accelerator on the right. No, don't look down.” Dean pointed to the shift in the middle. “Take that and out of park and put it in first.”

The engine idled. A comfy purr and Cas leaned back in his seat a little, feet hovering inches from the pedals. He kept his gaze trained on Dean. The man cleared his throat. Cas dropped his eyes to the shift in between the two seats. The little letters glowed just a bit, with a minor red light. Behind that was another lever. Dean followed Cas's line of sight.

“That's the emergency brake.”

“Ah.”

Cas's hands went to the shift again. Pressing the button on top of the stick, holding it down as he pulled the stick back and put it first. 

“Good. Put your hands on the steering wheel and keep your eyes on the road.”

“Got it.”

The wheel was warm beneath Cas's hands. Its rubber, thick and alien to the fingertips. He stared through the windshield. The yard was spacious and littered with cars and their various parts. Some in better condition than others. On the left was Kelly. Still leaning back against the white van. He gave a small wave when he caught Cas's eyes. Cas gave a little nod.

Dean cleared his throat. “So what do you see?”

Cas hummed. “Cars. The driveway is at least a couple hundred feet away. From there, the road is on the right of us. Kelly's on the left.”

“Good. Good. You gotta stay alert. We're not gonna go on the road just yet. Just get used to the car.” Dean shifted in his seat. “Go.”

Cas pressed hard on the gas and they jolted forward. Dean shouted, hands shooting out to grab the dashboard. The jeep bounced, skimming the grass, wheels missing a lone fender lying on the lawn.”

“Woah, brake.”

Cas pressed the accelerator again, laying off seconds after they next burst of speed. He stomped on the brake. Both of them rocked forward in their seats. Dean gave a little laugh.

“That's one way to do it.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it's fine. Now try turning. See that patch of grass by that station wagon?”

“That one on the left?”

“Yup.” Dean tapped the wheel. “Now, you don't have to turn too hard to get where you want to go. So let's try it.”

Cas nodded.

“Check your mirrors, make sure nothing's in your way.”

Cas nodded again and followed Dean's instructions. He tugged the steering wheel to the left, going a bit slower this time.

“The controls are so sensitive.”

“You'll get used to it.”

The jeep rumbled to the station wagon. Cas tapped on the breaks before he could hit it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean nod. Cas squared his shoulders. Cas tugged the steering wheel to the left until the jeep was turned halfway until it was nearly perpendicular to the station wagon. The wheels swiveled and Cas sucked in a breath. He pressed down on the pedal and the jeep bolted forward again, skimming past the station wagon. Dean's surprised noise made Cas stare back at the other man. 

“Eyes forward, man.” Dean said.

“Right.”

Cas righted the wheel, going forward and as Kelly grew closer, he slammed on the brakes. Kelly stood up, backing away from the jeep. His grin was huge. Kelly spread his arms out. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Not bad for your first time.” Kelly said. 

“Well there are no gears.” Cas said. “So there's that.”

Dean gave a surprised huff, almost a choke on air. “Did you just make a joke?”

“Yeah guess I did.”

Cas laughed. The sound low and rich, startled into being from the back of his throat. Eyes bright in a new found way. Dean blinked at the sudden way his chest lightened, to the point where he became dizzy. It made his skin burn and prickle. He gave a little shudder, almost wanting to rub his his arms but the pleasant rumble in his stomach stopped him. For some reason, he was reminded of Sam and instead of that dragging him back to reality, it only heightened the sensation. Splashes of color spotted in Dean's vision. The jeep seemed louder somehow and Cas's laughter echoing inside it. Dean grinned. He couldn't stop staring at the angel's mouth trying to contain itself.

Ben shouted, voice booming over the yard and cutting Cas's laughter short. Dean scowled, stiffening his back. Cas and Kelly turned to the sound. Ben came round himself, arms pumping as he jogged over to the three of him. His pinched eyebrows and gaping mouth as he panted, hands resting on his knees as he doubled over. Cas and Dean exchanged a look and Dean unbuckled his seat belt and Cas hurried suit. 

“Dispatch.” Ben panted. “Shepard's farm is under attack.”

“That's a mile from us.” Kelly cried.

“Exactly.” Ben coughed. “I told them-”

Kelly bounced on his heels. “Ok, we'll go.”

“We?” Dean asked. 

“Already did.” Ben said.

Kelly's eyes blazed. “You can count on us.”

“Us.” Dean repeated.

“Yeah us.” Kelly rounded on Dean. “We're the only ones close by and can help.”

Dean stared at Kelly, the younger man didn't drop his gaze. Kelly's mouth was set, eyes unblinking. Dean inhaled in a slow, sharp breath. 

“Ok.”

Kelly brightened. 

“But you gotta stay close.” Dean said. 

“Of course.” Kelly said. “Will do.”

“I'm gonna prep the van.” Ben said. “We'll give you support ASAP.”

“Appreciate it.” Dean said.

“Take the jeep.” Ben said. “It's channel four on the CB.”

Dean nodded. Ben raced to one of the vans, slammed the driver's door open and shut. The van's engine stalled and then rumbled to life. The van turned down the driveway and down the road. Dashing to the jeep, Dean buckled into the driver's side. Cas in the passenger's seat and Kelly scrambled into the backseat. Dean hit the gas and turned sharp to the left. Cas managed to buckle up in time so that when the jeep swerved, Cas didn't fly out of his seat. Kelly wasn't so lucky, he tumbled into the backseat with a yelp. The rumble of the engine drowned out Kelly's next words as they shot down the road. Kelly leaned over to Dean, shouting in his ear.

“Shepard's Farm is two miles away. You gotta turn on the left.”

“Got it.”

“The driveway is another mile long.”

Dean sped up until he found the turn off. Kelly pointed it with shaking hands. The driveway sped past them until an old style ranch house loomed up in front of them. Dean slowed. Kelly turned, pulling a case from out from under the seat. He opened it up and pulled out the collection of guns and knives. Kelly handed Dean a shotgun as the older man unbuckled his seat. The three of them stared back at up at the house. A yellow-stained two story house, with peeling paint obvious from their distance. A lengthy porch with three steps that had noticeable gaps in between each of them.

Porch swing creaking as Dean took the lead, Cas on his right and Kelly on his left. Dean raised his shot gun up higher. Cas's angel sword gleamed in his hand and Kelly's hands fumbled with the machete. Dean looked back and forth between Cas and Kelly and jerked his head in direction to the open door. Its doorknob splattered with blood. Dean's eyes darted to the safety of his gun, flicking it off. The stairs creaked as Dean walked up them and he scowled. A shadow flitted, visible from the long entryway. Dean's back straightened and Cas's grip on his blade tightened. Dean went through the door way first. A shape barreled toward Dean. A muscular and board man lunged, black eyes large and sunken in the face. Limbs flying as He reached for Dean. Kelly shouted and leapt forward, shoving Dean's shoulders. 

Kelly's free hand pushed on Dean's chest. Machete swung a high arch, slicing the arm of the demon. It staggered back and grinned, teeth shining in the gloom. Lunging forward, it grabbed onto Kelly and bit into the boy's neck.

“No!”

Kelly's eyes widened. Cas threw his seraph blade. It landed square in the demon's back. It lit up from the inside out, frame illuminated through the flannel shirt of the male host. His knarled hands tangled in Kelly's collar. Dragging the boy down with him on the dusty floor. Kelly gurgled, clutching his neck. Dean bent down to Kelly's side. He pried Kelly away from the dead demon as Cas retrieved his blade.

“Hey. Hey, hey hey. Look at me.” Dean said. “You're gonna be just fine.”

Cas stood up, head moving back and forth at their surroundings. His eyes darting everywhere, blade raised.

“Dean.”

Dean's shoulders tense Kelly's eyes focused up at Dean, wise and glassy. Dean's gun lay on the floor as he grasped Kelly's shoulders. 

“Ok. We're gonna move you. Keep your eyes on me.” Dean looked up at Cas. “Grab his legs. On three.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Clary refilled the bottle of antiseptic from the bulky dispenser on the counter. Bess cleared her throat and Clary turned to her and by the pursed lips and glassy eyes, Clary set down the bottle of antiseptic. She tilted her head as Bess held up a file folder. 

“I got your results back. You're about six weeks pregnant, give or take.”

Clary blinked. “So...about...almost two months?”

“Thereabouts.”

Clary counted off her fingers, hands clammy as they went through the motions as flashes of that night came flashing back. The blood drained from her face. She kept swallowing, rubbing her hands on her jeans. She leaned back against the counter. Clary closed her eyes, squeezing the lids so hard she saw stars. Taking a breath, it was a few minutes before she could respond. Bess cleared her throat again. 

“Clary, there is something I'd like to ask you.” Bess said.

“Hmm? What's that?”

Clary still had her back to Bess, he hands full of tightly rolled bandages. 

“How close are you to those two men?”

Clary still for a moment. She shrugged. “That's a good question. Well...we've been through some pretty weird stuff together.” Clary paused. “They're handy in a fight. So...yeah I trust them.”

“So...” Bess's voice was halting. “Neither of them is the father?”

“No.” Clary turned around. She burst out laughing. “T-those guys? No, no the father is-” Clary cleared her throat, sobering. “No.”

Bess frowned, but some of the tension went out of her body. “I ask because,” She gave a little fidget before straightening. “I was thinking about having you stay on as my assistant.”

“What?”

“I mean it. I need an extra pair of hands and you've got potential.”

“Huh.” Clary blinked. “Well...”

“Well what?” Bess set down the test tube rack she was holding. “I can't help but think you aren't very close to those two and honestly it’s hard enough-”

Clary tensed but asked anyway. “What do you mean?”

“Being a single mother. In the middle of the apocalypse no less.” Bess closed the gap between them. “Here you would be safe. Protected. A chance to have a real family around you. Whatever it was like for you before, it can be better now.”

“Better?” Clary's voice sounded odd, even to her ears.

Bess nodded. “You're here for a reason after all.”

Clary was about to ask for what when there was a rap on door. Bess jumped and then went to answer it.

“Think about it.” She opened the door.

Alice stood by the entryway. “Knock knock.” she chirped.

“Hey there, how are you?” Bess smiled.

“Oh. I was just stopping by for a snack, when I thought I'd pop in to see how you two were and remind you guys about mass.”

Bess smiled. “Something to look forward to.” 

“Any patients so far?” Alice asked.

Clary didn't catch the response, paying more attention to the way Bess leaned forward to engage with Alice. The slight young woman was beaming up at Bess. She was smack dab in the middle of puberty, faded jeans with a flowing white blouse. Her long dark hair was clipped with a red bow in the back. Her sneakers had flowers drawn on it. Dark brown eyes gleamed as she laughed. Small white teeth against pink lips. 

“I think dad is working up for a big one.” Alice 

Bess laughed. “I imagine.”

“Yes, he'd like to talk about the righteous man-”

Bess gives a little intake of breath, eyes darting to Clary. Alice followed Bess's gaze and laughed. Alice waved a slim hand and gave a slim smile to Clary. 

“What? She's a companion to the righteous man.” Her smile grew, showing more teeth. “Dean Winchester is lucky to have you.”

“Umm thanks, I guess.” Clary frowned. “But why-”

“Well I figure that if he trusts you, we can.” Alice said. She paused, giving a stare to Clary that made her skin prickle. “I'm a prophet of the Lord.” 

“I-I-what?” Clary sputtered. “Excuse me?”

Bess raise up both of her hands. She stuttered and Clary would have laughed if Bess's expression wasn't so alarmed. Clary looked back and forth between the two of them. Alice gave her a calm smile, unblinking at her. Alice nodded.

“Yes.” Alice inched closer to Clary. “I can hear what the angels want me to.”

“Uh huh.” Clary cleared her throat. “I, uh, I guess that's what prophets do, huh?”

Bess frowned. “I know it's hard to believe-”

Clary raised her hands, waving them. “Oh, no I'm sure. It's just unexpected.”

Bess's frown melted into a smile, brows unknitting and eyes softening. Clary put her weight on other foot, chest not as tight as before. Alice played with the hem of her blouse, looking up at Clary out from under her lashes. Clary tilted her head. She was about to speak until a door slammed from another entrance from the church and the following chorus of shouts. The three women turned to the sound. Bess breathed slowly and deep as Clary shuddered. 

The sounds of human panic became louder. The dining hall doors bursts open. Father Maher is pulling back his wife. Tears streamed down her face, hands slapping her husband's arms and he winced when she elbowed him in the chest. Father Maher tightened his grip and he began speaking to Dean. Clary gaped. Sagging in between Dean and Cas was a bleeding Kelly. Bright splattering of gore on Kelly's neck, shoulder, and side of his face. Clary swayed. The people surrounding the group seemed blurred to Clary's eyes. Her gaze zeroed in on the blood on Kelly. Bess shot forward, waving her arms up.

“Bring him over here! How many wounded?”

Dean and Cas struggled forward. Kelly. The boy wasn't moving, let alone taking his weight off for the support of the other two. His eyes were half open and staring at nothing. Clary took a step back. Bess went to the three of them, arms opening to gather Kelly. She tried to balance herself, planting her feet. Bess twisted her neck around to glare at Clary. 

“Need some help in here!”

Clary jumped and hurried forward. She moved her arms where Bess indicated, taking some of the weight off of the older woman. The two woman scuttled backwards into the break room. Together they settle Kelly onto the table. Kelly gave a little groan, face twitching in a grimace and didn't relax. 

“Bandages.” Bess said. 

Clary darted to counter, fingers shaking as she grabbed the bandages she rolled a few hours before. She turn back to see that Dean was trying to stem the bleeding as Bess was cutting away bloodied fabric. Clary unrolled a bandage. Bess had washed away the dried blood and Clary zoomed in on the gore, fresh dribbles of blood still trailed down Kelly's neck. Flesh split in an uneven line starting at base of the neck. Three circular bite marks littered his shoulder. She could the indentations of individual teeth when she looked hard enough. Clary gagged. 

“Clary!” Bess snapped. “Apply pressure!”

“R-right.”

Clary did as she was told, a curious calm settling over her. Everything inside her went chill, limbs obeying her with ease. Fear was now in the back of her mind and didn't hinder her. Cas had to scoot back as Clary went to get more bandages. Another shout rose up as Marcia escaped her husband's arms and dashed into the room, Alice and Father Maher hovering in the doorway. Marcia threw herself at Kelly's side. Bess gave a wordless cry as she staggered back from Kelly, as Marcia moved to her son's side.

“H-how-” Marcia's voice cracked. “This, this isn't supposed to happen.”

Father Maher grabbed her shoulders and rubbed her shoulder blades in small circles. He tried to pull her back, as she was leaning far too forward onto Kelly's chest. Her tears dribbled down her cheeks and tiny spots appeared on the edges of Kelly's shirt. Father Maher looked up at Dean, his eyes wide and glassy. Dean swallowed. 

“Please.” Father Maher said. 

"We got a call to a house." Dean said. He cleared his throat. "When we got there-it was an ambush." 

Marcia lifted her head up and glared at Dean. He didn't flinch, but he leaned back, lowering his eyes. Clary whirled sliding her feet to escape the press of the new people. She grabbed a tray with suture equipment. When she turned back, she almost crashed into Alice. Clary fumbled, equipment on the tray clattering and she managed to keep them steady on the tray. Bess frowned. 

"Ok, that's it, everybody out." She snapped. 

Father Maher bowed his head and steered his wife out of the room. She glowered at Dean. The hunter grabbed the angel and together the four filtered out. Alice pressed herself back against the wall across from the door. She watched as Marcia stepped up to Dean and slapped him. It wasn't strong enough to do more that give him a small red spot on his cheek but he reeled back from the surprise of it. She didn't lower her hand but curled it into a first and waved it underneath his nose. Her eyes blazed even as the tears still streamed down her face. 

“Don't come back to the house.” Her lips trembled in her white face. “Don't think that you'll be welcome. You-”

“Marcia!” Father Maher gave her a little shake. “Say no more.”

Marcia choked, shaking her head but said nothing. Father Maher pursed his lips and Marcia escaped her husband’s grip and strode down the dining hall. She was given a wide berth. Father Marcia gave Dean a stare. 

“I'm sorry. It's not really...” He cleared his throat. “Either way, it's probably for the best if you didn't come back. I'd get you your things.”

Dean nodded. Father Maher clapped him on the shoulder before he left, following his wife. Dean waited for a few minutes, back stiff as he stared past Father Maher's retreating form. His fists clenched so hard, flecks of blood dripped down from his fingers. Bess only glanced up at Dean once. Cas eyed Dean. 

Dean darted out of the room and after a few minutes Cas followed him. Bess motioned for Clary to hand her another bottle of antiseptic. As Clary moved to assist Bess, Alice went to their side, leaning forward without getting in the way of Bess and Clary. Bess dapped a damp cotton swap onto a dried cut. She cleared her throat. 

“His blood has already clotted. It's still early but it looks like he'll pull through.”

Clary glanced back up at Alice, expecting to see a smile. The young girl's face was twisted. Her thin eyebrows pressed down hard, deep wrinkles set around her eyes. Alice's eyes flashed, the pupils dilating. The blackness inside them made Clary shudder. Alice's mouth was twisted up and in a way that Clary wasn't sure made sense. Lips twisting over teeth in smile that was more than a snarl. Her teeth bared, white and slick with spit. The cheeks pulled up, laugh lines jagged and deepened under the lights. Alice hadn't noticed Clary's stare. Clary pulled back averting her eyes before Alice could notice. 

Dean strode to the jeep, he put his bag in the backseat. He gives a shaky exhale. Bright streaks of orange and red slashed through the sky. He narrowed his eyes as the setting sun glared. Dean gripped the door. 

“Dean.”

Dean jumped at Cas's voice. He squared his shoulders.

“Look just leave it.” he said.

Dean didn't turn around to face Cas, but he could picture the way the angel's head would be tilting. Dean smiled for a second before sobering. 

“You knew what I meant to say?”

Dean snorted. “Jesus. I knew it. I knew we shouldn't have gone there.”

“And again you take the blame for things you shouldn't.”

Dean turned to Cas. “Yeah? How do you figure? If Kelly hadn't gone with us-”

“Knowing him, he would have found a way to come with us.” 

“Doesn't matter.”

“Dean...”

Dean huffed. “Seriously-”

“No.” Cas said. “This is not your fault.”

Dean opened his mouth but was cut off from a shout from Clary. The two turned. Across the street, Clary and Bess stood against the church steps. The older woman bored her gaze into them as Clary tapped her feet, crossing her arms, and her gaze darted back and forth. A sudden peal of bells made Clary jump. The clanging of the bells trumpeting through the street. Clary winced, rubbing her ears. She darted forward to the other side of the street. Bess called her name and grabbed her arm. Clary stumbled, one foot still in the air as Bess yanked her back. 

“Dean. Cas.” Clary called.

Dean met Bess's gaze and turned back to the jeep, getting in the driver's seat. Cas glanced between Dean and Clary. His attention turned back to the man when he began to speak.

“I'm almost done with the truck. We'll be outta here tomorrow.” 

“Alright.” Cas said. “Pray for me and I will come.”

Cas stepped back as Dean turned on the ignition and pulling out of the parking space. Dean drove down the street and turned right. Cas frowned and strode back to Clary and Bess. 

“You don't want to miss mass.” Bess said. 

Clary nodded. “Go on ahead, we'll catch up.”

Bess squeezed Clary's shoulder and jogged back to the church's entrance doors. Clary grabbed Cas's shoulder. 

“What's happening?” she asked.

Cas frowned. “Dean is almost done fixing the car. We'll leave tomorrow.”

“So we're just gonna leave?”

Cas gave a nod. He frowned, tilting his head. “I have something to do first.”

“First?” Clary tilted his head. “Ok, meet me in the break room after mass.”

“See you then.”

The two moved in opposite directions.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The inside of the church buzzed with activity. Every pew full to the brim. Clary even spotted Ben the mechanic a few rows in front of her. Bess was one pew above her. A few cluster of children from the dining hall on either side of her. However, Clary knew that Dean and Cas were nowhere to be found. Father Maher stood in the front with Alice on the left of him. His hands spread outwards as he spoke. Clary tuned out what he was saying, thoughts turning inward. One hand settled on her stomach. Alice cleared her throat and moved in front of her father. There were whispers among the church goers rustling in their pews. 

“Just a minute. I know this is unexpected, but I have something to say.” She gave a brief smile. “And I think we all know what it is. Ever since the apocalypse, we've gotten closer as a community. Life is funny that way, the way God has thrown us all together.” She gave a little laugh. “It's also funny how we, as a flock have been thrown together with strangers-”

Clary twisted her head to see Marcia with a grim expression. She leaned forward, hands on the pew's railing, fingers digging into the wood. A fingernail chips but Marcia didn't notice. She was biting her lip so hard it bled. 

“Strangers that don't know our ways and seek to harm us because of that. Strangers that we let into our town. I lost one brother to them and now I'm about to lose another. If we can't protect our own sons from outsiders, then we shouldn't have them at all.” 

Clary sat up straighter. She shivered. Alice kept talking. Father Maher gave a tug at her elbow, but she slipped out of his grasp and went closer to the edge of the pulpit. Her eyes widened. 

“So it's time to listen to what I have to say.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________

Castiel pushed through Alice's room. The single bed's covers were pulled down and made up crisp. A plethora of plushies littered her bed. Gauzy pink canopy was held in place by the ivory colored bedpost. A nightstand with a pink lamp on the right. Posters of ballerinas covered the walls, only stripes of the walls showing. The paper of the posters had an aged feel to them, as if they had been tacked onto the walls for years, the whites yellowed. Thick carpet indented upon impact of Castiel's shoes. A white vanity with stickers and cluttered with girly products. A bookcase full to the brim with textbooks and magazines. 

Castiel frowned. It was a controlled mess and he couldn't see anything merely lying around. He opened the doors from the vanity and dresser. The bookcase full to the brim, '17 magazine' and 'American Girl'. He knelt down and stared under the bed. Nothing under the bed but a single book. Tugging it forward, Castiel hefted it into his hands. A looping script in Latin with an English subheading beneath it. 

'Apocryphal lore of the apocalypse.' 

The binding was worn, crinkling at the edges. Castiel opened the book with care. Flipping through the pages, thick vellum soft against his fingers. He pursed his lips. An English translation with the original Latin on the next page. A few editorial notes about the lore from opposing sources littered the margins. He closed his eyes. Power emanated from the book, a kind of spiritual static.

'Even in this state, I can feel it.' 

Out loud he said, “Waverley was right.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________

The break room smelled of anti-septic and pine sol. Clary wrinkled her nose but said nothing. Cas held up the leather bound book in front of her. Its script swimming in front of her eyes. The Latin came messily together for her mind. After a moment, she knew what it said. She gave a mental thanks to Ithuriel. Clary sucked in a breath, trying to keep the nausea at bay. She gestured to the book.

“So this is...?”

“A lore book. Very informative.”

“I should hope so. Anyways, Alice Maher is a prophet.” Clary said.

“No.” Cas's answer was immediate.

Clary frowned. “What do you mean no?”

“I know the names of all the prophets that ever were and will be. Alice Maher isn't one of them.”

Clary exhaled. “...But why lie about it?”

Cas frowned. “This place has always been suspicious. You've sense that too right?”

Clary nodded. “I just brushed it off.”

“So did I, but now...”

“Yeah.” She nodded again. “That explains Alice. She looked,” Clary ran her fingers through her shorn hair. “Like, like she was happy. Her brother was bleeding out-was dying and she's smiling.” Clary peered up at Cas. “I couldn't have imagined that. Thinking about it now, I know I didn't.”

“It would explain why Waverley was talking about monsters.” Cas said.

“He did?”

Cas nodded. “He said she. To look in her room.”

“I take it you did that already?”

“Yes and Dean is still in the garage.” 

Clary frowned. “Are we really just going to leave?”

“We gotta find Sam.”

“If there's anyone to find.”

“Try telling that to Dean.” Cas's hands hovered over Clary's shoulders before letting them drop back to his sides. “Don't give up. We made it out, it’s not an impossibility that Sam wouldn't be able to as well.”

It was a few minutes before Clary found her voice again. “You really think so?”

“If I know one thing about Winchesters', it’s that they can defy expectations.”

Clary gave a watery smile. “They're going to shut down the cell towers. I'm not sure what Father Maher can do about it.”

“Not much he can, I found this in her room.”

Clary tugged her sleeves, peering behind Cas to look at the close door.

“Ok, run that by me again, so Alice really is a monster?”

“The Whore of Babylon specifically.”

Clary blinked. “The what?”

“The Whore. A creature that heralds the end times. She's here to drag this whole town into the pit.” 

Clary pictured a literal hole in the ground opening up and shadow-y claws dragging screaming residence inside. Lava bubbled up as Bess was pulled by her hair, kicking and sobbing. Clary shuddering.

“What? How?”

“By way of a ritual. For innocents to shed blood in God's name.”

Clary looked down at Kelly, still lying prone on the table in the middle of the break room. His breathing was less labored than it was before, but he was still pale. Clary rubbed her arms and looked back to Cas. 

“How did we miss this?”

Cas shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I shouldn't have.” He held up the thick, leather bound book. “This. A section mentions that if the whore manages to get a priest's blessing, she can shield herself from anything of holy origin and pass by undetected.”

Clary sucked in a breath. “So how do we kill her?”

“A stake of cypress. Holy wood straight to the heart. She must be killed by a servant of Heaven.”

She groaned. “So easy to find.”

Cas nodded. “Yes.”

Clary shook her head. “No, I was-” Clary pursed her lips. “Never mind. Just hurry, they're going to shut down the cell towers. Everybody is getting rounded up. Wait.” Clary paused. “What about Dean? The sword-”

“I'll get them. Can you hold off the whore until then?”

Without thinking, Clary said. “Yes.”

Cas gave another nod. “I'll tell you what I told Dean. Pray for me if you need me.”

“Ok.”

The door opened and Bess emerged, face taunt and pale. Her eyes were wide in her head. Clary jumped and whirled around to see that Cas was no longer there.

“I-I just-”

“There you are. We need to hurry.”

Bess grabbed Clary's arm and steered her out of the room.  
___________________________________________________________________________________

He set down Clary’s old car battery with a groan. The heavy block of metal thumped onto the ground, missing his feet. Dean spread out the remaining tools, hands deft as he twisted a wrench this way and that. The only light came from the lamp posts overhead. Ben was in his garage, the door all the way open, light spilling out from inside. His radio was set on a country station and singers softly crooned out ballads. It still reached out to Dean with ease and some of the muscles in his shoulders relaxed. With the cars littered across the yard, he didn't look up when one of the white vans pulled up. The glare of the headlights made him bury his head deeper in the car's hood. 

The radio was shut off. A creaking echo made Dean look up. The light from the garage slowly shuttering to a stop. The headlights from the van swerved as the vehicle turned so that the light hits the garage door. The lights shut off. The sounds of the doors opening and closing. James and Pedro's voices cutting through the air. 

“So where did Ben say he was?” James asked.

“The junk pile to the left.” Pedro said. 

Dean froze for a second before pulling the wrench from the car engine and slid the tool into his back pocket. He leaned to the side, his feet pointed to his right. James and Pedro's shadows became visible. Their shadows lengthening over the tops of the tires. 

“Hey, where are you?” James called. 

Dean moved out from the shadows. “Here.”

“There's an emergency.” Pedro said. 

“Yeah? I'm almost done-”

“Well snap to.” James said.

Dean stiffened. “Yeah ok.”

Pedro crooked a finger and Dean walked forward. He swallowed. Three sets of shoes crunched over the gravel. It echoed throughout the yard. It masked the idling of the engine of the van. Dean peered closer to the van. It stood underneath the streetlamp, half in shadow and half in illumination. He didn’t move, staring at the windows. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes stung and the moment he stilled, a shape burst out to the front seat. 

Dean jumped as Ed Waverley slammed into the passenger seat. His wide eyes staring straight at Dean. Waverley's hands pounded on the glass and tears pool in his eyes. A silent scream on his lips. Dean froze. James and Pedro stood behind him. Calm settled over his limbs and he moved of his own accord. He whirled behind, hands skimming to his back pocket and pulling out his wrench. He slammed it into the side of James's face. The swooping edge of the crank caught the flesh where the bridge of the nose met the topmost corner of his right eye. James yelped as he staggered back, blood spurting back into James's eyes. 

James stumbled into Pedro. Dean dashed back to the truck. Pedro shouted as the two men gave chase. Dean swerved to the shadowed truck, grabbing the corner of the open hood of the truck. He pulled himself forward, feet skimming for a second. James and Pedro rounded the corner. They were cast in a half light, the glare of the headlights shining in their eyes. Dean inhaled sharp, al the way back to his throat. He pressed his lips in a hard line. James snarled, his lips twisting back as blood crusted at the bridge of his nose, pupils dilating from the pain. Pedro pulled a gun out from his thigh holster. His fingers unlocked the safety as Dean raised up both his hands.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“No talking.” James snapped.

“Nothing personal.” Pedro said. “Well, for me and all, but you being an out-of-towner is a bit of a problem.”

“Problem?”

James scowled as Pedro continued. Dean’s foot nudged Clary’s old car battery, his back now to the grilled of the truck. He gave a weak grin.

“You’re the reason for all this sin.” Pedro said.

Dean’s face hardened. “Really?”

“When we pray. We do it together-it keeps us pure and protects us. Out-of-towners always mess that up. Can’t have that.” 

Dean's exhale had a sharp choking quality to it. “Why am I not surprised?”

Pedro cocked the hammer of his pistol with a grimace. “Nothing personal.” He repeated.

“Right.”

'Cas, if you've got your ears on, now would be a good time. Get your feathery ass down here.'

Dean ducked low just as Pedro fired his gun. The bullet missed its mark, burrowing itself in a wooden post on the left behind Dean. Pedro fired again as James's shouts drowning out the echos from the shots. Dean's hands outstretched towards the car battery, scrooping it up from the handle. Grunting, he hefted it, swinging it low, wide arc. When his shoulder was level and the battery out of his vision, he flung it. It didn't soar for long. James and Pedro caught the battery, the heavy metal smacking them them both. It hit Pedro in the throat and James in the chest. They collapsed against each other, moaning as they fell to the ground and didn't get up.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Bess's hand is firm but not painful. However, the pinching in Clary's wrist still sent little shivers of nausea through her. Bess and Alice led her through the dining hall. Alice led the way. A few remaining teenaged staff and a few various other citizens followed them out. Clary caught Bess's eyes. The older woman's face was pinched. Her expression seemed to waver from emotion to emotion. Her lips trembled. 

“Have you been honest with me?”

“What?”

“Who is the father?”

Clary blinked. She felt hot-cold everywhere before flushing. Her own lips trembled and she had a sudden longing for Bess to wrap her arms around her. Clary extended out her free hand and put it onto Bess's shoulder. The older woman flinched. Clary yanked her hand back and dropped it to her sides as she looked down at her scuffed shoes. Alice tugged hard on Clary's arm and Clary had to skitter just to keep herself from being dragged forward. The strength in the girl's arm was surprising. They turned down a hallway with a back door and Alice opened the screen door. 

A sharp cold breeze went through the door and Clary shuddered. Alice led them into a yard, its white picket fence gleamed underneath the lamppost. Its paint looked new, thick brushstrokes clumped together. They contrasted against the long shadows that the fence cast. The grass crunched underneath her feet, individual blades glimmered with a touch of frost. The night sky seemed so crisp and all encompassing. As if it her eyes wanted her to get in every last detail. The stars shone down on the townspeople, giving some color to the faces. 

They surrounded her, clustering into small groups. Everyone's expressions grim, disgusted, or smiles that seemed to hold some kind of triumph. Everyone held rifles and shotguns in their hands. Any child that could hold a weapon did. Some of them held handguns and the little ones carried knives or slim daggers. At the front of the gather was a kind of stage. A small wooden platform big enough for at least two people was erected by four wooden poles and a set of stairs that led to the platform. The gap in between the poles and the platform was enough for the kindling that was gathered there to be arranged without trouble. Another, much longer pole was lashed to the back of the platform.

Father Maher stood beside the platform, arms folded, with his hands clasped together. His bible secure against his chest, the elegantly scripted title bright. Clary rubbed at her eyes. The air had a metallic tang to it, like the prelude to a thunderstorm. His smile was brittle. 

“There you are.” When he turned to Alice, his smile was more genuine. “Good job sweetheart.”

Alice inclined her head. “God will reward you all for your hard work.”

She tugged Clary harder this time and together they stumbled to Father Maher's side. Bess swallowed heavily as Father Maher began to speak. 

“Now, I admit I was skeptical of getting rid of the out-of-towners. It seemed too much too soon but when Alice here informed me of just who-or should I say what, Ms. Fray is...” He gave a little chuckle. “Well I couldn't argue with that now could I?”

A chorus of agreement went up, some twitters of laughter. The teenagers from the kitchen jeered as an elderly couple gave Clary twin looks of discuss. Father Maher bobbed his head for a minute, waiting for the noise to go down before continuing.

“I certainly didn't think that our little flock would come up against such sin. Then again, with our Alice here, our little prophet-”

“She isn't one, don't you understand-she's not a prophet, she's the wh-”

Bess slapped her. Clary inhaled sharply, tear pricking her eyes at the unexpected sensation. The older woman looked on the verge of tears herself, splotches of color riding high on her cheeks. 

“How dare you?! After she told you who she was. After you lied-”

“I didn't lie!” 

“Then who is the father?” Bess's voice went higher. “Tell us!”

“W-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I can see into your mind, to get into the truth of things.” Alice said. “I know what happened.” 

Clary shuddered. “No you don't.” She said. 

“Then say the truth for all to hear.” She spread her hands. “That the father of your child is also your brother.”

Clary blanched, gasping as the faces of the crowd blurred together into one continuous being. People were shouting, spitting, and laughing. Clary twisted her head back to see Alice's face contorted into a shape she couldn't identify, only knowing that she couldn't bear it near her. A burst of panic and disgust inside of Clary and its source she realized was Ithuriel, but she had no way of calming him. Her vision blurred, not clearing even as hot tears rolled down her face. Her shoulders sagged and for a moment, she nearly fell to the ground. Father Maher took one look into her face and he saw something in there that made him square up his shoulders. He jerked his head in the direction of the platform and four young men strode over to Clary. 

As soon as they put their hands on Clary, she began to shout. She was led kicking and screaming up onto the platform. She lifted up her hips, twisting to and fro, gaining enough momentum to be horizontal. They hauled her up, getting a firmer grip on her. Clary peered around to see that Father Maher had opened his bible and began to recite the page. Bess was fumbling with the matches.

'Cas. Castiel, I pray to you in my hour of need. Get us the hell outta here!'

“Bess, please. Bess you don't want to do this.”

“No.” Bess said. Her mouth was a grim slash. “But I'll do what I have to, sinner.”

Clary snorted. “I thought you said I was here for a reason.”

Bess trembled. “I did. I thought it meant that God was giving you a second chance. Now I know that He meant for us to purge you-all of us-of our sins.”

“What?” Clary paled. “I thought-”

Bess shrugged. “It's nothing personal.”

“Seems pretty personal to me.”

Clary turned to Father Maher. “Please. Dean saved your son's life-”

The Father's eyes were cold. “I don't owe you anything.” He pitched his voice out and into the yard. “For the sin of incest, you will burn.”

The foursome tied her to the wooden post, rope burning into her skin as she thrashed. She bared her teeth at the young men as they went past her and walked down the platform's stairs. Clary stared out at the crowd. Their faces melted into one long blur as the crowd jeered, spit, and shouted. She shivered, stomach roiling in the face of the mob.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Cas if you've got your ears on now would be a good time-”

“Cas. Castiel, I pray to you in my hour of need. Get me hell outta here!”

“Castiel...brother help us.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Burn her!”

“Hurry, before she taints us all.”

Clary jiggled her wrists and couldn’t move them more than an inch or two. She began to breathe through her nose. She pulled her lips back. A wave of anger swept through her and fresh tears spilled down on her face. Father Maher’s voice blurred and became indistinct. A blaring noise whenever he opened his mouth. The blaring didn’t stop as bright lights swerved down the road and took a sharp turn until they bore down on the street. A blue pick-up truck crashed into the picket fence, splinters of wood shooting out, pieces falling to rest on the mob’s shoes. 

The truck doors opened and out stepped Dean and Cas. Dean carried a sawed off shot gun in hand, pumping the rifle. The crowd startled as the two moved forward. A few went forward to meet them, while others parted. Marcia strode forward. Her face was a rigid mask as she outstretched her arms.

“You stand against the flock? After all we've done for you?”

“Yeah, real welcome wagon.” 

“She's committed grievous sin. Incest.”

Clary blanched. She began to tremble all over. Dean stared at her for a moment and Clary quailed under his gaze. He turned to Father Maher and Bess, the expression becoming even more severe. The two actually took a step back. 

“She's just a kid. Now cut her down and we'll sort this out.” 

Dean and Cas exchanged glances, their weapons tightening in their hands. Marcia's face twisted in a snarl. Father Maher lifted his bible higher in the direction of the two men. Bess dropped the matches and ducked down to retrieve them. 

“She's just a slut!” Marcia shouted. 

“Well she's our slut, so cut her down.”

“We'll cut you all down.” Marcia said.

Dean snorted. He lifted his shotgun higher, leveling the barrel at her. Father Maher froze, bible shaking in his hands. Dean gestured for Marcia to move out of the way. Alice twisted around to address Dean and Cas. 

“She can erase the sins of all of us. Her sacrifice-just one great sin in exchange for all of ours.” Her voice became louder. “We won’t need to burn one of our own. All you need to let us-”

“No need.” Cas said.

Cas weaved through the crowd, the stake of cypress raised in one hand. He made for the platform, but Alice block his path. She raised both hands and she began shouting out words in a thick, lilting language. The air around her palms seemed to shimmer like a heat wave, distorting her fingers until they seemed no more than air itself. She darted forward, not quite touching Cas but close enough to do so. Alice slammed her hands back down, as if pressing down on something heavy and Cas collapsed with a shout of pain. 

“Cas!” Dean shouted.

The stake of cypress skittered out of his hand and into a patch of grass. Father Maher started up his recitation again as Marcia rushed Dean. He pulled the trigger and she ducked, pulling back her fist and landing a punch in Dean’s jaw. He stumbled back, hands keeping a firm grip on his shot gun. He fired, clipping Marcia in the shoulder. Screaming, she stumbled back and Dean was swarmed with townspeople. He ran out of bullets quickly and started to swing his gun like a baseball bat, keeping the townspeople at arm’s length. 

“Now!” Alice said.

Bess shrieked, fingers fumbling with the matches. She struck one, a tiny flame and she flung it into the kindling. It burst into flames. Clary screamed. She thrashed, kicking her legs back and forth. The pole wouldn't budge. Dean shouted, but she couldn't make out the words. The fire was eating up the kindling and she raised her knees up higher, the heat traveling up to her sneakers. 

Dean made for Alice, but Father Maher intercepted him. Dean punched him in the jaw and Cas staggered to his feet. As he stood up, Alice pushed him out of the way. He stumbled into the crowd. Father Maher's bible dropped to the ground as Bess struggled to back away from the flames. Clary screamed again, muscles aching with the strain of keeping her legs away from the heat. 

“Look at you.” Alice crowed. “An angel with clipped wings. I'll be more than happy to tear out the rest of those feathers.” 

Cas got to his feet for a moment before collapsing back down with a wheeze. Alice laughed, her voice drowning out the crackling of the fire as Cas stared at her with hate in his eyes. Dean's gun was flung to the ground with a wave of Alice's hand. With a snarl, he flung Ruby's knife with true aim and it sunk into Alice's shoulder. The wound lit up, crackling as the blade made sparks against her flesh. She strode over to Dean. She struck him with an open palm and he was flung to the ground.

“Son of a bitch!”

Alice laughed. “The three musketeers.” She strode to Dean.

“Hurry! We have to-” Clary's voice retreated and she shouted to Ithuriel. “We need to get out!” 

A coolness washed over her body, a newfound tingling in her limbs. Her muscles stopped shaking and the flames didn't feel hot. Wrists shaking as she could smell something burning, like ozone. The part of her mind that didn't go quiet, honed in on Alice pinning Dean to the ground, her voice sharp and clear to Clary's ears.

“And you call me a whore.” Alice smirked. “You want to help the little slut, when you can't even help yourselves. A girl so lonely she fucked her own brother and a man who'll let the world burn for his own brother.” She laughed. “You can't even live without your brother. Some righteous man you are. I've seen your heart and it's filthy. You don't trust anyone. Not your brother, not even the angel who fell for you.” 

Dean paused, hands shaking and his eyes dimmed. He seemed to slump over, despite being pinned onto the ground. A wave of cool-hot overwhelmed Clary. Her hands shook and the ropes binding her wrists snapped. Clary slid down the pole, feet slapping onto the smoldering platform but she felt no pain. Bess looked up at the podium, staring at Clary walking on the small flames and screamed. Clary jumped off the platform, scrambling on the grass. The stake had rolled into a patch of grass a feet away from her. 

Bess followed her gaze and screamed again, pushing past the press of people around her. Clary saw her weaving to her out of the corner of her eye. Clary slipped up to her feet to reach the stake. Bess's fingers brushed Clary's sneakers. Clary tripped and her hands grabbed the stake. Bess's hands wrapped around Clary's ankle. Clary stumbled and she kicked out, shaking her leg to get it free. Bess held on and Clary kicked again. Her foot connected with Bess's nose with a wicked crunch. Bess yelped and fell back. 

Clary raced to Alice, who was pinning Dean. Her knees pressing into his hips and torso. One hand was on his shoulder and the other around his throat. Dean's weapons too far away for him to grab. Clary leapt forward and tackled Alice. Alice stumbled, her grip on Dean relaxing. He gasped for air and struggled to get to his feet. Alice whirled around, face pulling back to reveal a kind of blackness and teeth. Her cheeks became sunken and mouth pulling up to the bridge of her nose. Black eyes gleamed with too many pupils as her teeth rushed to meet her throat. Clary pulled her arm back and stabbed Alice in the chest with the stake. 

Alice screamed. Her veins turned back and her skin seemed brighter, as if she was lit up from the inside. Alice-the whore-shrieked. Limbs flailing. She bucked Clary off and she hit the ground with a hard thump. The stake was still lodged in the whore's chest. Steam rose off the body. Skin bubbling as she continued to contort. The shriek became a wail, vocals moving into sounds a person couldn't make. Clary covered her ears, feeling like ground had split open and she was about to tumble down into an abyss. The whore tried to sit up. She seized, leaning up to walk. Clary stood up, shaking as she did. A quick sprint, tackling the whore. Clary's hands slammed into the whore's chest, driving the stake deeper. 

The whore thrashed, limbs seizing so hard that chunks of dirt flew up into the air before she finally went still. The crowd went silent, black smoke curling up from the whore’s sizzling body, her chest completely still. Her expression froze, all gaping mouth and wide eyes. Eyes that were entirely black, bulging to the point that they almost popped out of their sockets. The human-ness fell away. The more Clary stared, the more her head swam and her eyes burned. She dragged her gaze back to the mob. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched fresh tears spill down Bess’s cheeks Marcia screamed, pointing at Clary.

“Kill her!”

Clary froze a second, then spun around and bolted. Dean grabbed Cas’s arms and hoisted him up. Clary reached the truth first, clambering into the driver’s seat. Marcia’s screams and Father Maher’s cursing echoing in Clary’s head. Dean opened the passenger door, half shoving and half flinging Cas into the backseat. The angel groaned but shifted until he crawled into the backseat. Dean was halfway into the truck cab. Marcia grabbed his foot, dragging him enough for his legs to dangle past the seat. 

“Punch it!” he shouted.

“What?” Clary shouted back.

“Go go go go go.”

Clary floored the accelerator. The truck went shooting back out of the yard in reverse. The burst of speed was enough to let Dean kick Marcia with ease. His work boot crunched Marcia’s nose. Her grip tightened on Dean’s ankle. Truck fishtailing, Dean halfway dangled out of the car, Marcia clinging to him. Clary changed gears, hands shaking as she u-turned and put it into first gear. Marcia’s grip slackened and she tumbled into the road. The mob closest to them, slowed and bent down to Marcia. 

A few cars sped forward to give chase. Dean yelled and Clary slowed down. He pulled himself inside and barely slammed the door before Clary floored the ignition. They barreled down the road, tires squealing as Clary took a hard turn as she struggled to get back onto the freeway. A white van, Ben’s jeep, and a station wagon followed them. Ben’s jeep was the hardiest, turning so that they drove parallel to the truck. Ben’s face a blurry mask of anger to Clary’s eyes. The van blared its horn, cutting them off and staying ahead of them. The station wagon brought up the rear, its fender tapping the truck’s bumper. Clary jolted forward, hands slipping on the steering wheel. Dean scrambled for a gun. 

“Ram the jeep, then turn right.” 

Clary clenched her teeth. She twisted the wheel hard to the left. They slammed into the jeep. Metal on metal shuddered. The frame of the truck groaned, the squealing of the tires as Clary pressed harder. The jeep lay on its horn. Ben howled as he began to fishtail. The front right tire of the jeep bumped over a rock. The jeep swerved and Clary jerked the wheel in the opposite direction just as the van turned to the left lane. Clary shot forward just as the van crashed into the jeep. The van tried to break hard, its side slamming into the jeep. Together the two spun off the road and tumbled together with resounding crashes. The station wagon back peddled, stench of rubber and smoke surrounded its wheels. 

Clary sped faster until the sounds of the pursuing cars faded in the distance. The engine began to splutter, the whine coming from the front getting louder. The truck slowed down, shuddering despite the smoothness of the road. Clary turned down to a dusty lane. She just managed to pull over as the car stopped without another sound. She turned off the ignition, slumping forward, and rested her head on the steering wheel. Dean put a hand on her shoulder. Cas leaned on his side in the backseat. They stayed that way for a long time.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Clary woke up to the strains of ‘Load out-stay’ by Jackson Brown. When she cracked her eyes open, the sky hadn’t quite lightened from a sun barely on the horizon. Clary exhaled in one long shaky breath. Nausea fought with her as she watched her breath spiral up the cab’s roof. Dean, turned to look at her, only his head moving. His shoulders shook. Green eyes sharp and alert despite his body having a slump to it. He stared at her. 

“Hey Red.” He croaked. 

“Hey yourself.”

His lips quirked up in a smile that disappeared as quick as it came.

“You good?” he asked.

Clary tensed and then forced her body to relax. She inhaled through her nose.

“As I can be.” She gave a little laugh, wincing when the act made her nausea increase. “Ooooh.”

Dean frowned and Cas stirred in the backseat. Dean's eyes flickered over to Cas, then went to Clary. His gaze lingered on Clary.   
“So you're....”

“Yeah.” Sudden anger overtook her and she glared at Dean. “It's the truth.”

Dean put up his hands. “No judgments here.”

Clary nodded and then groaned. Cas sat up. Dean shifted to turn back to Cas. 

“How bout you? You good?”

“I will be.”

“Good cuz we gotta get outta here.”

Dean twisted his weight and unlocked his door. Clary groaned and Dean moved to the truck bed as Cas let himself out. Clary unbuckled herself out of the seat and opened the door. The moment her feet touched the ground. Nausea winning out, she barely made it to the edge of the trees before she was sick. When she was finished, she joined Dean and Cas at the truck bed. Dean stared at her approach but said nothing. He hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder and tossed a backpack to Cas. The angel caught it with a little huff and slung it over his back. Dean went into the backseat and grabbing Clary's bag and Maellartach. He put the sword into his duffle and handed Clary her bag. She nodded in thanks.

“Well, no time like the present.” Dean said. 

Clary frowned. “We're walking?”

“Yeah. The truck's toast.”

Clary's frowned deepened. “I thought...”

“The tranny didn't take.” Dean cleared his throat. “It didn't match your old one very much. We're lucky that we got as far as we did.”

“I see.”

“Ok then.” Dean nodded. “You up for it?”

With Ithuriel thrumming in her chest in tandem with her queasy stomach, she felt herself harden.

“Yes.”

Clary ran a hand along the truck's hood. Tears welled in her eyes. Shaking her head, clearing her head of images of Luke and her mother. She walked beside Dean. Birds chirped, still unseen as they trudged down a dirt road. She stole glances at the two men as they kept pace side by side. Two bruised and dirty men. Dirt along their faces and hands. There were some rips in Dean's flannel shirt. His jeans were stiff with blood and mud. Grass stains splattering all over the fabric. Cas's trench coat was rumpled more than usual and tie askew even more so. Clary avoided their gazes when either one sensed her scrutiny. 

It was daybreak when they finally reached a truck stop with a gas station attached. Clary wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. The words Gas n' Sip loomed up in bold letters. The bells metallic ring made Clary wince. As did the bright florescent lights after a few hours of gentle pre-dawn sky. Clary hurried into the bathroom as Dean went to a turnstile rack holding cell phones and gift cards. Cas wandered the isles. 

Clary stared at her reflection in the sink's mirror. Grabbing some paper towels, she wetted them with soap and water. Clary glared back at her mirror self. Her face was sweaty and pale, even as she wiped the grime and specks of blood off. She leaned forward with her hands keeping a death grip on the sides of the sink. The angles in her face were oddly pronounced. Lips pinker, slight, barely there tinge in her cheeks. Green eyes glassy, shinier than her energy levels would suggest. Clary shuddered. A kind of rumbling went through her whole body, like she was in line for a roller coaster and couldn't leave. Her mouth moved against her will. 

“You're pregnant.” she whispered. 

Clary didn't know how long she stared at herself, so she tore her gaze away from the mirror and left the bathroom. Clary found Dean just as he paid for his things. Clary and Cas followed him out onto the parking lot. Dean reached into the plastic bag and tossed her a water bottle.

“Hydrate.”

She caught it with an ease that surprised her. “Thanks.”

She unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Dean pulled out a few cell phones. They were the size of tiny bricks of black plastic, their buttons stocky despite their size. Since they weren't flip phones, they looked as basic as a cell phone could. Disposable phones. Dean took out the plastic cards, lurid colors clashing with the plain phones. Punching in a few buttons, Dean activated the phones. Clary took another swig of water. He tossed a phone to Cas and was about to toss another one to Clary when the one in his right hand began to ring. Clary jumped, choking as she splashed water onto the pavement. Cas and Clary turned to Dean, who was staring at the phone in his hand with a scowl.

“Who would be calling you?” Clary gasped. “Sam?”

Dean shook his head. “Couldn't be.”

“Answer it.” Cas said.

“Touchie touchie.” Dean pressed the call button. “Sammy?”

“D-dean!”

Dean straightened as the voice shouted, tinny down the line. Dean jerked his head away from the phone. The voice came in loud and clear, despite the breathy panic in the words. 

“Dean? Dean are you there?”

“Is that-” Cas said.

“Chuck.” Dean breathed. He pressed another button on the phone and Chuck's alarmed voice came out loud and clear over speakerphone. 

“Dean? You there?”

“Yeah, yeah I'm here Chuck.”

“Oh thank God!”

Dean snorted. “What's wrong?”

Clary frowned, turning to Cas. “Wait...Chuck? Isn't that the uh...”

“The prophet.” Cas said. “The true one.”

Clary nodded. “He's the one who writes the supernatural books?”

“The very same.”

Chuck's laugh had a hysterical edge to it. Its sharpness made Clary flinch. Chuck cut himself off. 

“The angels.” Chuck said.

Dean and Cas stiffened. Clary looked back at forth between them. The air seemed to crackle with electricity. 

“What about them?” Dean asked.

Chuck paused. “Y-you've got the soul-sword right?”

Dean nodded. “Chuck-”

“C-cuz, that's what they want. The soul-sword goes with the Michael sword and since they can't find either, they thought-”

“Thought what?”

“Zachariah is trying to find you.” Chuck paused. “With me. Looking for you through me. There gonna find you-the sword.” The sound of flipping paper drowned out his voice for a moment. “I-I-It acts like a GPS, the sword, but they think I know where you are so-”

“So they'll use you to get to me? Naturally.”

Chuck gave another laugh.

Clary stared at Cas. “Why would they do that?”

Cas rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture didn't quite match his grim face with its set mouth and darting eyes. Clary rubbed her arms and took another of water.

Dean sighned. “Your address still the same?”

Chuck rattled it off all the same.

“Ok we'll be there ASAP.”

“I know.”

Dean hung up and looked back up at the other two. “Trap?” It sounded more or less like a statement.

“Undoubtably.” Cas said.

Dean clicked his tongue and then turned around at the near empty lot. A dusty grey pick-up parked alone. Dean made a beeline to it, Cas matching pace despite his wince. Clary capped her water bottle and hurried after them. The similarites between the grey truck and Luke's old blue one was enough to make her eyes sting. She watched Dean pull out his slim lock picks. Clary frowned. 

“Do we really have to steal it?”  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chuck's house was unexpected to Clary's eyes. A drab two story in not quite suburbia. Despite the spattering of parked cars, the street was deserted. Sunlight crept up the top of the trees. A lone car rested in the drive way, a yellow VW bug. 

“Huh.” Clary said. “Shall we?”

“What do you think's in there?” Dean asked.

“Something horrible no doubt.” Cas said. 

“Pocket full of sunshine, this one.” Dean said.

Clary gave a tight laugh. “Time to go in.”

Together they went up the porch steps and knocked on the door. Dean's fist banged only once before the door creaked open. Clary stared between Dean and Cas as they exchanged of their own. Dean pulled out his gun, raising it to eye level. Cas's hand tightened on his angel blade, hidden in his sleeves. Clary stared at their weapons and marveled at how they fit so easily in their hands. She jumped, fumbling for her stele, pulling it out of her pocket. Clary looked up to find both Cas and Dean staring at her. She flushed and nodded. 

“Ready.”

Dean went in first, with Cas bringing up the rear. The inside of the house was the same, with the exception of the silence. Of course, the last time he was here. The place was a mess, curtesy of the archangel Raphael. Now the couch in living room was overturned, stuffing from the cushions floating about, specks of white fluff dusting the hardwood floor and the thrice rumpled Oriental rug. The words 'made in USA' stamped on the underside of the corner side of the rug. A few chairs lying on their sides. The table that his laptop rested on, was stained, wood dark with alcohol and blood. A bottle of jack was about an only a third full. It rolled to its side. It rested against the open laptop, liquid spilling down on the ground. A few pieces of paper were soaked in whiskey. Speaking of paper, sheets upon sheets fluttered in the slight breeze.

The kitchen wasn't any better. A cracked and burnt toaster flung across a blood spattered counter top. The window above the sink almost dishes piled high. Bits of food floated on the still dishwater. Boxes of takeout and few beer cans shared space with battered paper backs on the kitchen table. The walls coated in grime, had a foul smell that Dean couldn't place. A slightly tangy smell cloying over a thicker scent, like a dying air freshener trying to hide a stench. Clary gagged and Cas made a face. The silence stretched on. 

Dread coiled in his gut. Something thumped from upstairs. Dean uncocked the hammer of his gun. More thumps in rapid fire succession. Clary and Cas took possession on either side of Dean. His silent tread started them forward. Dean led them back into the living room. A creak of wood. Someone was coming down the stairs. 

A hand snaked down the bannister before yanking itself away. A flash of movement, then a chair was flung over the stairs bannister. Clary took a step back but the chair fell short of them by a foot. It clattered to the ground with a faint echo. The legs wobbled, but became still after a moment. The stairs creaked again. A blonde woman wielding a chrome baseball bat descended the stairs. She turned to look into the living room. When she saw them, her eyes widened to a comical degree. Grey irises bright against the whites of her eyes. She screamed. Clary winced and Dean lowered his gun with a grimace. He opened his mouth but she beat him to it when she exclaimed. 

“Dean.”

Dean groaned. “Hello Becky.”

Becky's feet clattered on the steps as she dashed down and went to their sides. Her wide smile made Clary fidget but she stepped closer to the blonde. 

“Just on time.” she said.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

“Chuck said-well his manuscript said that you guys’ show up.”

“Really? How much of the future did Chuck see?” Cas asked.

Becky rounded on him. “Oh Castiel-” Her voice managing to go higher and breathier. “So good to finally meet you. I can totally see the eye-sex thing now-”

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, Chuck?”

Becky nodded in rapid suggestion and Clary was reminded of a bobble head.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Hang on.”

Becky turned on her heel and zipped back up the stairs. A few frantic thumps before she zipped back down to them. In her arms were a stack of pages bound by thumbtacks. A block of typeface in the center of the page. A manuscript. She held it out to them. Dean took the manuscript and flipped through it. Cas and Clary peered forward over Dean's shoulders. Becky continued speaking.

“Here it is, it's not finished, at least not the way I think it is.”

“You think?” Cas interjected.

Becky eyed him up and down with a big smile on her face. “You, like I dunno how it is that Chuck can see what they don't want him to of how they keep them from reading his mind. Prophet stuff I guess. Ooooh. What if he's like, a super prophet and stuff.”

Clary raised an eyebrow. Becky caught her look. 

“You know because some crazy stuff's been happening. The Nephilim storyline was totally out of left field. Sorry about Idris by the way.”

Clary choked on her spit. “You heard about that?”

Becky nodded. “Even after the publishing house went down, he kept writing.”

Dean hefted up the script. “So this is the playbook for today?”

“I think so. I mean it's a trap right?”

“Yeah. By the way, how is it you know this?” Dean asked.

Becky bit her lip, blushing as she tilted her head downwards to the side. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her T-shirt. Dean gave a little smirk.

“Ok, say no more.” He sobered. “Ok, so how do we spring this trap?”

Cas took the manuscript from Dean and flipped through it. Becky held up her hand, one finger pointing straight up while the rest curled into a fist. She fished into her pocket and pulled out a laminated card and a folded up brochure. She unfolded it and waved them with glee. It was for a museum exhibit. 'Mythological swords of Europe' gleamed up at them in thick, glossy font. A medieval broadsword decorated the front cover. The dates for the exhibit rat at the bottom. Only three more dates left. Clary inspected the other piece in Becky's hand. A library card with the lamination beginning to fray. Its address a plain script in the middle of the card.

“Ok so since I've been with Chuck, he's told me to wait for you guys. Like at first, I was 'yay' but today I woke up and he was gone and I found these. I don't think the angels knew he wrote this. Sooo...ideas?”

Dean looked up from the brochure. “Yeah.”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The grey ford truck followed Becky's yellow VW bug into the parking garage. The ground level moderately sparse and they parked in the shadow-y corner. The staircase to the upper level on the right of the truck. An overhead light missing both of the cars and instead illuminated the entrance to the door. Dean, Clary, and Cas got out of the truck, Becky wiggled in her seat. Her teeth visible even in the dim light. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she was at their side in a flash. Dean went to the truck's cab, taking out Maellartach, the blade wrapped up in a corona beach towel and held together with zip ties. Only a bit of the hilt stuck out. Dean handed it to Becky. She gasped as the covered blade was handed to her, paling as she held it.

“Don't lose it.” Dean said.

Becky nodded. She unlocked the backseat of her bug and placed the sword beneath the passenger seat. Dean gave his own nod and she gave a little squeal, ignoring his responding eye roll.

“Ok. Everybody got their stuff?” Dean asked. “Go through it all to be sure.”

Becky waved her library cards and cell phone, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Cas pulled out a cell phone from his trench coat's pockets. Clary adjusted her messenger bag, revealing her two museum tickets, cellphone, stele, and sketchpad. Dean patted his pockets. He wore a workman's jumpsuit. The kind Clary had seen on repairmen. A few sewn on patches displayed his company's name and logo while a laminated fake ID clipped to his breast pocket. Dean tucked his cellphone back into his pocket and pulled on a thick pair of gloves.

“Keep in contact but maintain radio silence. We're good to go.”

Becky squealed as they continued to stand there. Dean gave Becky a long stare. 

“Oh right.”

She bounced back into the driver's seat of the VW. Cas and Clary glanced back at Dean before they climbed into the backseat of Becky's bug. Clary barely shut her door when Becky pulled out of the space and turned the corner. Dean groaned, watching for a moment before he took the stairs.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Shoved into the backseat, Clary's head swam as Becky prattled on. Her radio was actually lower than her voice but Clary tuned out the song, breathing through the nose.

Becky giggled. “I feel like James Bond right now-”

“Who?” Cas asked.

Becky laughed. “Right, you don't know pop culture. That's so cute about you. Well, lot's cute about you-”

“Uh...”

Cas exchanged a look with Clary. He tilted his head, frowning. Clary waved her hand and sighed. Becky continued speaking and squealed. 

“-Just so hunter-y.”

A building loomed up from down the block. Clary nudged Cas and together they looked out their windows. An austere but modest building with two lengthy stone steps. A pair of stone lions posed mid-roar across from one another. The name blazed in embossed letters. 

'The Hawley museum of history and art.'

“We're here.” Becky said in a sing-song voice.

Cas unbuckled himself and was out of the door before Clary had a chance to clamber out. Clary slammed the door behind her. Becky waved her cellphone in the air. Clary raised a hand as Becky slowly pulled away from the curb. She idled into the road. Clary nodded as she and Cas made their way to the stone steps. Clary turned around again to see the yellow bug still idling in the road. Clary waved her hands, flinging them out so she pointed to the road. She could have sworn she saw Becky wink. She honked three times in rapid fire before taking off down the street. Clary jogged to catch up with Cas.

“Shall we?” she huffed.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean was let into a side entrance and walked down the employee's only corridor. At the end of the hall, a stout man in a security uniform greeted him. His crew cut grey and a bit thin in places but his eyes were sharp and clear. He stared at Dean, who then put on his charmer smile. The security guard looked at Dean's ID.

“Steven Smith?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we spoke on the phone.” Dean gave a little laugh. “Mr. Jones right?”

“Yup. Right this way.”

Mr. Jones led Dean to the security booth, a small room on the left. A panel of monitors dominated the room, with a long desk holding up various smaller monitors and at least one keyboard. A two radio next to it.

“We're short staffed but it's a weekday so it should be pretty quiet.” Mr. Jones cleared his throat. “We usually don't have to out-source for this, so thanks for coming in on such short notice.”

“Oh not a problem.”

“Well I'm on patrol till third shift, so holler if you need anything. It's channel four.” He patted the receiver on his shoulder.

“Will do.”

Mr. Jones rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and left. Dean waited a few moments than shut the door. He sat down and watched the monitors. At least ten of them. One on the bottom showed the main entrance where visitors' bought tickets and hung up their coats. Three were dedicated to the ground floor, with their large interconnecting rooms via high ceilinged halls. Another three for the second floor, its layout the same as the first. Two of the stairwells and its final one for the closed exhibit on the top floor. This monitor also would switch over to the loading dock on the basement level. Dean stared at the monitors for a moment longer, then turned back over to a filing cabinet just behind him. He rifled through it until he found what he was looking for. A map and a layout print. Turning back, he placed them onto the desk. His phone vibrated. Dean fished it out and read the message.

'We're in.'   
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Clary sat down on the polished wooden bench. Her phone gave a little hum in her pocket. She pulled it out and scrolled through her messages.

'Good luck!!! Oh and congrats btw :)'

'Uh...thanks?'

'np :) xoxo'

Her phone went off again and Clary sighed with relief when she saw the message.

'Good. There's four guards on shift till closing time.'

'Ok. Not a whole lot of people here.' She typed in.

Clary pulled out her sketchpad, hugging it to her chest and closing her eyes. Her phone again. She looked down at the message.

'Good. Guard on your floor is in other room, hurry.' 

Clary flipped her sketchbook to the page marked. A sigil drawn in pen stared up at her. She walked over to Cas, who bent down to whisper into her ear.

“It's time?”

Clary nodded. “Think this'll work?”

“I can turn off any alarms.”

Clary sucked in a breath. The couple who had been looking at the paintings tucked away in the corner had now wandered off to the other room. They were alone. There were five paintings on either side of them with two across from each other on the opposite ends of the room. A thin velvet rope corded off the paintings, keeping hands at a safe distance. Clary spotted the camera hidden on the far left corner of the ceiling.

“Now.”

Cas strode over to the painting smack in the middle. He stepped over the cord, ends of his coat brushing the rope. Cas grabbed the painting by its frame as Clary dug into her bag and pulled out two black sharpies. Cas held the painting for just a second before setting it down. Clary tossed him a sharpie. He caught it, uncapping it and drew a sigil. Clary glanced down at her sketch then back up at the wall. Cas drew it in thick lines. Lines that spoke of banishment, movement, and confusion. Its power made her skin flicker, like rain droplets on her arms. Something lifted in her chest. Ithuriel?

“So these sigils...do they seem strange to you?” Clary asked.

She fidgeted with her sharpie, twirling the pen over and over in her fingers. Cas finished, putting the painting back over its spot on the wall, hiding the mark. He went over, past to where Clary stood and went to the adjacent picture, repeating the process. Clary's phone went off again, and she took a look.

“These sigils are meant to banish. Alter them in the slightest and it can change their meaning, if not void them entirely. We have enough sigils to bounce an angel around to where we will want them.”

“Ok good. Dean says we need to leave this room.”

Cas nodded and put back the painting. This time it was Cas's phone that went off. He fumbled with it as they walked past the security guard strolling down the hall. Cas's fingers stumbled with the buttons. He hummed to himself.

“This room is too crowded. Dean suggests the stairwells.”

Clary clutched her sketchbook tighter. “So we'll have to split up.”

“Yes.”

Cas took Clary's book from her and flipped the page. A different sigil decorated the page. A half circle with its right end tapering sharply to the sky. One whorl inside the half circle.

“Make sure to use this one.”

“Alright. Let's meet back here.”

“Yes.”

Cas turned his attention to a large abstract painting. Clary looked around the room. The couple from the previous room stood across the way, whispering to themselves. A set of parents with their three children flitted from painting to painting. The father took pictures as the mother pointed at the painting to the left. The eldest child, a shaggy haired boy with skater pants was texting on his phone. He shared the bench with an older man wearing a dusty parka over a three piece suit. Clary glanced back at Cas. No one would be paying attention to a man enraptured with a brightly colored canvas.

A pang went through her as she watched him. For the life of her she couldn't remember the name of the piece of its artist and it happened to be one of her favorites. Blinking back unexpected tears, she shook her head and went off to the stairwell.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Dean stared back and forth at the monitors. Cas was still in the same room, unmoving from his spot. The guard was still in the deserted room. He had sat down on the bench, rubbing at his eyes. The second and third guards we're patrolling their respective floors, with the second guard moving back and forth between the rooms quicker than the other guards. The one on the third floors stopped pacing to stand against the wall. Since he was the only one inside the closed exhibit, he didn't move. 

The main attraction on the first floor, the mythical swords exhibit had the most traffic. The three guards and one tour guide were beginning to look frazzled. Even in the dim light, the space had enough nooks and crannies to be a help or hindrance depending on the situation. Frowning, he turned back to see Cas moving to the opposite stairwell just as Clary got to hers. She stood on the second landing in between the set of stairs. Staring up at the walls with her sketchbook balanced in her arms.

'It's clear.' He hit send.

Her saw her type a reply and the delay was only a minute.

'Where do you want this?'

'High as you can.'

Dean watched Clary nod to herself before acting. She looked down at the pad, then set it down and put the sharpie in between her teeth. The railing that divided the stairs and the wall had a noticeable gap even on the midsized monitor. Dean straightened in his chair as Clary put her hands on the railing. Hoisting herself onto the railing, her tennis shoes wobbling as she stood on the rails, hands splayed out and knees bent. Clary swayed and for a second, swung too far over. Gravity took control and flailed, arms shooting out. Her palms slammed into the wall. Dean winced. Movement caught the corner of his eye. He gazed at another screen. Cas had finished his sigils in the stairwell already. Dean picked up his phone, texting with only a cursory glance at the keys.

'Hey you find our ghost writer yet?'

Becky's response was immediate. 'Three libraries. Hitting up the last one!'

On the first floor, the group petered out. The family with the three kids dragged and whined at their parents to leave. Dead followed their march to the sword exhibit. After a few moments, the couple walked back into the adjacent room. The old man at the bench appeared to be asleep. The guard stared at him for a few moments, then tapped the old man on the shoulder and escorted him out. Dean fired off another text, this time to Cas.

'Clary's still in stairwell. Go back to the last floor. Now's your chance.'

'Ok.'

Dean followed Cas's stride back down to the first floor. Trench coat flapping behind him as he stepped over the rope and took down the painting her had admired earlier. Cas brandished the sharpie with fast strokes. Dean tore his gaze away to check for the security guard. He was still with the old man, helping him find his coat. Dean checked on Clary. She was balancing on his tiptoes, elbows out and touching the wall. Her sigil was correct despite the jagged lines. Dean looked back to Cas, who was on his second painting. The guard had taken the old man outside. Dean sent another text to both of them.

'Meet at the second floor.'

Clary hopped down from her perch and gripped the railing for a second, just as Cas put the painting back on the wall. Cas got to the second floor first but went through those rooms without a hitch. Cas and Clary raced to the paintings, setting to work in double time. Dean peered up at the third flood, to see the guard shift from foot to foot before hurrying down the hall and turning to the left to the men's room.

'Guard on three in bathroom. Hurry.'

Cas and Clary made it to the third floor in time. Clary flipped to another page. The array didn't come in crisp or clear and Dean didn't bother to try to enhance the clarity. It was enough to see the two of them shudder at the design. The room itself was spacious. The only entryway other than the stairs was the hallway that led to another adjoining room that had been cordoned off. Two tall stands cut it off with the thick black Velcro lines in between them. The exhibit itself showcased Ancient Egyptian artifacts. Fragments of stone with faded hieroglyphics, canonic jars, small statues of cats, jackal headed men, broken and shimmering jewelry. The main attraction was easy to spot. 

A sarcophagus inlaid with gold and gems. It was molded in the iconic pose of arms crossed over the chest, a rod in one hand, a crook in the other. It was protected by a thick glass case. A small bronze plaque gave the mummy's identity, along with a blurb along the bottom. It was at least five feet off the ground by five foot length wise. It stood in the back of the room, not too far from the center. The rest of the items were lined up on the sides of the room. It gave the impression that the items put together into rows to give a clear view of the sarcophagi, with guests having to walk up a carpet to get a closer look, like paying homage. 

'The ceiling.' Dean texted. 'Can you get up there?'

'Got an idea.'

Cas and Clary hurried over to the mummy case and got behind it. Cas continued to stand upright as Clary bent her knees, palms flat against the glass as she leaned forward. Cas watched as she adjusted herself and then together they pushed the case to the center of the room. Clary looked up, mouth moving but without audio, Dean had to read her lips. He fired off another text.

'What's wrong?'

'The ceiling's too high.'

Before Dean could respond, Clary climbed up onto the glass, still bent at an awkward angle. She slapped the glass with her free hand. When it held, she straightened up. Clary gestured for Cas to come up. The angel followed suit, standing on top of the sarcophagus. He frowned at whatever it was Clary was saying but then he cupped his hands together bending a bit as Clary put her hands on Cas's shoulders and her foot onto his cupped hands. Dean laughed as Cas gave her a boost on his shoulders. Clary scrambled to get her knees positioned as she rose up to putting her feet onto to Cas's shoulders. He gripped her ankles tight and she stretched her arms as far as they could go and set to work. Clary dragged the sharpie over the ceiling, eyes half closed, lips trembling and it didn't appear to be forming words. Her arms shook. Dean glanced back to the other monitor.

“Crap.”

'Guard is coming back.'

Clary jumped, hands skidding over the ceiling. Cas removed a hand and Clary swayed. Dean clicked his tongue.

“Son of a bitch.”

Cas grabbed his cell, lips moving and Clary bent down to grab his shoulders. Clary's sharpie went skittering to the floor and she leaned too far over his shoulders. Cas caught her and he kneeled down on the case. Clary's feet touched the carpet and raced to grab her sketchpad as Cas got off the casing and began to push it back to its proper spot. He stood behind it, motioning for Clary. She peered around.

“The hell you doin'?” Dean said.

The guard’s shadow crept up past the entryway. Clary crouched down by the corner of it, fingers stretching towards what Dean assumed to be her sharpie. Dean saw her freeze up as the shadow got closer. He caught a glimpse of her wide eyes as she suddenly turned and bolted, hiding behind the sarcophagus with Cas. The security guard finally caught up with his shadow. He turned around, hands on her hips as he squinted into the corners of the room. The guard froze.

Dean's phone buzzed in that exact moment and her jumped. Dean picked it up, skimming past the message as he continued to stare at the monitor. 

'At the library. Its closed, what do?'

The guard’s face scrunched up for a moment before his head and shoulders gave a vicious shake. Even without the audio, Dean knew that sneeze was loud. Dean grabbed the radio off the desk and switched it to the proper channel.

“Hey, uh officer...Daniels?”

Static buzzed for a moment as Dean let go of the receiver. Thick sniffles then an even thicker voice. He sneezed again, loud enough to make Dean jump.

“Daniels here.”

“Hey. It's the security booth. What's your location?”

“Third floor.”

“Roger that. Could you come down to the ground level? Some young men gettin' a little rowdy in the sword exhibit.”

“Copy that.”

“Over and out.”

Dean watched Officer Daniels power walk out of the exhibit and head down to the first floor. Dean's fingers flew over his cell.

'Ok hurry.'

He waited until Cas and Clary set everything back up again before her typed out his response to Becky.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Becky tried not to squeal as she saw the message. Dean Winchester texting her of all people. Too bad Sam wasn't around but beggars couldn't be choosers and wasn't that Castiel a dream boat? No wonder Dean couldn't keep his eyes off him-

Her phone buzzed again, interrupting her ideas for slash fic.

'You need to-'

Becky nodded despite knowing that no one could see it. She rooted around in the trunk of her bug. A gleaming spare tire, the just as clean car jack, and a few old magazines strewn about. A scratchy blanket lumped in there since last July. She grabbed both the blanket and the car jack. Becky put them into the backseat and then dug about the glove compartment. A small little case with pink and yellow flowers adorning its plastic cover. She opened it up to see the DIY mani/pedi kit still intact. A few bobbi pins were clinging inside the folds of the case. Perfect. She round a compact mirror and a neck tie.

“MacGuyver time.”

Since her bug was parked behind a tree, she kept the doors unlocked, making sure the sword was still in its hiding spot. The sun had already set from the overcast sky and the dark clouds still lingered. A lone streetlamp illuminated the lot and Becky skirted its wide beam. She found a telephone pole-not that it was her goal or difficult to find, but she had an idea of how to go about doing this. She went past the telephone pole, prowling around the library's exterior.

On the right hand side, past the dumpster and across from the environmental information and advocacy building next door was the small metal box with a warning label on its front. She opened the gear box's front lid. Flipping open her cell phone, the light shone on the inside of the box. A nest of wires packed out of their densely packed space. Grinning, she took out her mani/pedi kit. 

The toenail clippers first. She used them to poke through the wires. Becky looked back and forth between the gear box and the telephone pole. The clippers nosed through a bit more until she found a thick black wire. Becky opened the clippers up and picked the wire, tugging it away from the others until it hung suspended alone. Becky took the other end of the clippers-the sharp little curve at the end and snipped the wire. Nothing happened. Becky tried again. Nothing happened again. Becky tried a third time, bracing against the box as her arms strained.

Snip.

The clippers gave a little metallic click as they came down against air. The lights from the buildings next door went out. The streetlamp behind her flickered and died. Against the sudden darkness, a few dogs barked in the distance.

Becky laughed. “Ooops.”

Becky turned her cellphone back to the gear box, this time selecting a green wire. The one light left in the library shorted out, rendering the building dark.

“Phone line, phone line, phone line.” Becky muttered.

She picked wires at random, finding one with green lines, but before she could clip it, her hand slipped, yanking the wire from the box. A few other wires tumbled loose, fraying around the edges as they tangled against each other. Tiny sparks flew and bit her hands. Becky yelped and pulled her hand away. She dropped her toenail clippers in the dead grass.

“Ah shit.”

A humming noise slowly died away as Becky blew on her hand. She stared at the jumble of wires she pulled. Becky put her hand in her jacket pocket. With her hand wrapped in fabric, she tugged the stray wires as hard as she could. They came loose after a few tries.

“Good enough.”

Becky lifted through the dead leaves to try and find the clippers but couldn't. She walked back over to the front of the building to the glass doors. A sign read 'closed', with hours of business taped on the inside of the glass. She grabbed her tools and took out a slim hairpin. She bent down like she had seen people do on TV and tried to pick the lock. Becky glanced back and forth, twisting so that her back was completely to the road. Tugging the door handle, she growled as it refused to budge. Becky gave it another minute before bending down, pressing her ear to the knob. The low click of the tumblers and the lock gave. Becky straightened up, back cricking as she took one more look at her surroundings. 

Padding her way into the library, the only lights came from the buildings a block away. Becky found the security code box, the buttons for the numbers thick and she pressed them over and over with no real direction or sequence. Becky raced past the front desk and down the aisles of books. She raised her cell phone higher, its LED screen giving off a narrow beam of light. Beck bent behind a shelf and saw nothing but books. Without thinking, she pulled a thick leather bound volume off the shelf. Under her cell's light. The title glared up at her in no nonsense typeface.

'The mechanics of law vol. III'

Becky put it under her arm and stood up. She looked back the way she came, a little bit to the left was the downstairs section of the library. To the right, a few feet ahead were the bathroom. After a moment, she headed to the restrooms. Becky adjusted her things. The book under her arm, cell phone with its pale blue light in one hand and car jack dragging her arm down in the other. Becky pushed open the door to the boy's room with her shoulder. The cell's light scattered over the mirrors above the sinks, making long shadows across the stalls. There was a shift of the shadows and Becky ducked down to peek between the stalls. A shiver of movement.

“Found you.” she crooned.

“...Becky?”

Chuck's voice shook. “Hang on, you could be possessed.”

Becky squeaked. “Then you can test me. I can't believe we're doing this. We can test each other later. Just come out.” She laughed. “My princess is finally in the right castle.”

“Princess?”

“Yup. Now you have to do what I want in the bedroom. I got a new strap-on. So you can be Sam and I'll be Dean.”

“Umm....”

“Come on, I've been following you all day. I deserve a treat.”

Chuck gave a little huff of laughter. “You know it's usually your ex's that you stalk.”

Before Becky could respond, there was a brief flash of rotating red and blue lights as the sound of an engine turned over. A familiar whirl of sound. Chuck unlocked his stall door and poked his head out. He turned to Becky.

“Uh, is that what I think it is?”

Becky shrugged. “Ooops?”  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean said goodbye to Mr. Jones, watching as the guards left after the visitors. There were fewer guards for the night shift. Only two patrolling the floors interchangeably. He watched them greet the second shift workers as the last dregs of visitors grabbed their coats. When the second shift left, third shift locked the doors behind them and shut off a majority of the lights. Few stayed on, such as the ones for the basement and storage. The security booth and the front desk. The dim amber of the lights made for a very soft glow. A few flood-light from the sword exhibit were kept on, aimed at the swords on display. All was quiet. He waited until both guards were far enough to text Cas and Clary.

'Come back.'

'The front entrance right?'

'Yeah. No one will be there for at least an hour and a half.'

He kept his eye out for the guards as Cas and Clary emerged from crates held in storage. The two guards were on separate floors. One on the first in the sword exhibit and the other on the second floor. His phone buzzed.

'Got Chuck. Update soon.'

“Let's get this party started.”

Dean handled the monitor’s control panel and began to erase the days’ worth of security footage. He gathered up what he had and made his way to the front entrance where people brought their tickets. He met Cas and Clary halfway. They stood in the center of the room. The receptions desk was at their right and coat room on their left. 

“Ready?”

“As I'll ever be.” Clary said.

“Indeed.”

Dean pulled out a piece of chalk from his pocket and began to draw a circle. Clary watched, entrance by the lines that spoke of summoning. Dean chanted, the power of the words shook her. Ithuriel supplied her mind for the name of the language. Enochian. The lights from the reception desk flickered. A slow pace until it kept building to a frantic strobe light-like and then held, glowing bright. Clary and Dean held up their hands to shield their faces. The light bulbs exploded. A shout from farther down the hall. Clary twisted her head and when she looked back, a broad balding man in a black three piece suit. Clary froze.

His smile pinned her in place. Her eyes darted back and forth between the new angel and Dean and Cas. They glared at him. Something bristly was happening to the air. The two angels were shifting their stances. Clary looked to Dean. His expression didn't change, although his hand went closer to the gun she knew he kept on his person. A rustling noise grew louder and Clary could have sworn she saw feathers. Clary caught the angel's gaze and shuddered.

“I don't think we've met.” he said.

“Zachariah.” Dean growled. “Your beef is with me. We're here to talk.”

“Talk?” Zachariah smirked. “This has trap written all over it.”

Dean scowled. “I could say the same. So how bout' we be civil-”

Zachariah laughed. Clary's back stiffened, breaking out into a sweat. His voice spiraled high.

“Hey! You guys over there!” the security guard ran out from inside the sword exhibit. He spoke rapidly into the receiver radio on his shoulder. “Hey, stay right there.”

Zachariah tutted. “That's just-”

“No!” Dean shouted.

Zachariah turned back over to Dean. 

“Leave him alone, you're here for me.”

Zachariah strode to Dean raised his hands, palms up. His walk was slow and deliberate, like he was approaching a skittish horse. His hands got closer, fingers spidering up Dean's jacket. Dean's lips pulled back, pink gums bright against the ashen color of his face. Zachariah's fingers curled around Dean's arm. Cas pushed Zachariah's hand, slamming into his chest as grabbed Dean's shoulder. Clary blinked. They were gone. Zachariah turned to her.

“Did you know about this?”

Clary gasped. She spun around and sprinted. She flailed her arms to the two security guards.

“Get out of here!”

Zachariah appeared in front of her. He flashed a sneer.

“Quick question. Why run from something you can't outrun?”

Clary slashed out with her stele. Zachariah blinked, pursing his lips. He pointed at her stele, but Clary ran. Staggering back and racing into the sword exhibit. The guards tried to grab her but she ducked away from their arms.

“Run!”

The flood lights shone down on the sword, shadows in sharp relief. Her eyes watered. The sword of St. George displayed in the very center of the room, set in a glass case with a bronze plaque. She turned in time to see the two guards rush Zachariah, who raised his hand. Bright light enveloped the room. A curious heat overtaking the room. Clary covered her head with her arms, doubling over as she staggered back and her back slapped the case. The guards’ screams reverberated, the wide room amplifying the sounds of agony. 

The light disappeared as quickly as it came. Light faded. Clary blinked the spots out of her eyes. Smoke steamed from the guards. Clary bent down to them, biting back a scream. Deep pits where the eyes had been, still oozing red with mouths frozen in screams. Her vision tunneled and Clary fumbled for the railing behind her as Zachariah appeared in her dwindling field of vision.

“You really didn't think this through.” he gave a little chuckle.

Clary looked up into his eyes. The greyness of them, the way they narrowed into slits. The lack of warmth. His lips twisted until his mouth was no longer making a smile. His tone was light, but each word burned with malice.

“If this is the best a Nephilim can do, then I've got nothing to worry about.” 

Clary leaned to the side, shaking as her hand went behind the podium and slapped the banishing sigil drawn underneath the sword's display case. Zachariah shouted as the blast made his wings flare out before he disappeared. Clary wobbled to her feet. She looked back at the two guards. They slumped against each other, blood drying along down their eyes and cheeks.

“I'm sorry.” she said.

Clary hurried into the next room to find Cas and Zachariah already there. Zachariah had an angel blade, advancing on Cas with slow steps. Cas had his back to the to the painting he was admiring earlier. Clary kept a wide berth, darting to the sigil hidden behind the other painting. Zachariah scoffed.

“Please. As if your little trap is gonna work.” He laughed. “Guys, no need to shepherd me, I know my way around.”

Clary hefted the picture off the wall. Zachariah lunged at Cas, blade gleaming. Clary threw the picture. It missed, landing at Zachariah's feet with a loud smack. He glanced at Clary. Cas nodded at her, spinning around to take the painting off the wall. Together the two activated the sigils. Again Zachariah disappeared. Clary shuddered.

“The ones on the stairwell-”

“They'll do the rest for us. He'll be on the third floor shortly.”

Clary hurried after Cas, taking the steps two at a time and reached the third floor, banging open the door. The floodlights on the ground flickered, lighting up the artifacts and giving them long, ghostly shadows. The sarcophagus was shoved to the side, opposite where it had been before. It was the only piece that appeared undamaged. Zachariah stood in the corridor's entryway.

“About time.” He took a few steps forward into the room. “Hurry up and spring this trap of yours.”

Clary swallowed. 

“If you insist.” Cas said.

He dashed to Zachariah. His blade caught the glare of the floodlights, blazing as Cas swept up the blade high. With a slight tilt of his head, Zachariah dodged. With one gestured of his hand, Cas was yanked backwards off his feet and flung into the center of the room. He fell hard on the floor. His angel blade rolling away to rest at the feet of a cat headed idol. Cas struggled to right himself as Zachariah held his hand up again. Cas shouted and his foot kicked a floodlight.

Zachariah stood over Cas, the light shining up at an eighty degree angle, glaring into the angel's face. Harsh shadows gave deadly planes to his face. He was sharper, longer, and taller. Clary squinted. The shadows were gathering themselves behind Zachariah, thicker than light. The air hummed and the shadows pulled themselves up, as if they had substance. 

Cas's eyes darted up and Zachariah followed his gaze. The floodlight illuminated the array perfectly, each thick line curving into a form of power. Lines that spoke of control, entrapment, draining. Clary could remember every detail of the summoning circle that bound Ithuriel. Now Zachariah looked up at it, eyes flashing and for a second his ugly expression twisting even further until Clary realized no human face could really move that way. She bit back the urge to scream and Zachariah’s face smoothed back into its more comfortable leer. He wagged a finger at Cas, tutting. He raised his index finger, pointing it straight at the array. Energy hummed and Clary wasn't sure how he was doing it and suddenly cracks appeared in the ceiling, breaking the lines in the circle.

“Back to the drawing board.”

Wings billowed up, engulfing the room as Zachariah looked down at Cas. Blue eyes narrowed at the other angel. Zachariah made no comment and the humming in the air intensified. Zachariah’s wings took a different shape, becoming pointed. They darted, slanting forward, like blades pointed at the throat. Clary darted to the sarcophagus. Ducking behind it, she gripped the handle of her stele. She drew on the side of the sarcophagus. The glass case burned as the tip of the stele dragging along its surface. 

Her arm ached, heat travelling down to her fingertips as he hand seemed to move of its own accord to pen this mark.

“Push.”

As soon as pulled away, the sarcophagus shot forward. It slammed into Zachariah. Cas scrambled out of the way, just in the nick of time. He stood up, backpedaling away and kept his distance. Zachariah got to his feet. He straightened his suit.

“Ok, you know what-”

The snick n' hiss of a match being struck. A tiny orange glow as the lit match hit the ground. The minute pause of darkness before the flames shot up. Zachariah stood in a ring of holy fire. Dean stepped forward, expression between determination and triumph. Zachariah’s face had blanched in fury. 

“What, no peppy comeback?” Dean said.

“Don't need one. I've got the Michael sword in my grasp.”

“Not quite.” Cas said.

The three advanced. Zachariah eyed them. He sighed.

“I take it you want information. Where I've squirreled Chuck away to for example?”

“Not really.” Dean said.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Ok climb out the window.”

“Are you kidding me?

Becky shoved Chuck, hands slamming into his back. He cut off a yelp. The window was no more than four feet above the ground. Chuck pulled himself up to the ledge, a small space before the window. His feet dangled as he fumbled with the latch. It unlocked with a loud click. They froze. A creak came from somewhere in the front of the building.

“Go go go go.” Becky hissed.

Chuck's legs flailed and Becky grabbed them, pushing him up. Chuck's hands pressed against the warped glass. It groaned before giving way. His hands shot out, a sharp chill hitting his palms. Chuck gripped the ledge of the windowsill. Sweat slicked his grip. He slid down a fraction. Becky grunted in protest. She shoved hard and his knees smacked onto the sill. Chuck pulled himself until he was halfway out the window. His legs kicked a second before slipping out of the window and pitching him into the grass. 

Becky slid the book out the window, then threw the phone and the car jack. She jumped up and followed suit. Scrambling off the cold grass, Chuck got to his feet quicker. He picked up her phone and and car jack. Becky brushed dead leaves off her jeans and took back her phone. When Chuck held out her car jack, she pushed it back to him.

“You hang on to that.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Hello, who's there?”

Becky picked up the library book as Chuck hopped from foot to foot. She waved him off but before he could bolt, a young man in police uniform jogged over to them. His flashlight beamed at them in a wide spotlight. Becky raised a hand. The cop's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them and his mouth moved in a tight line.

“What's going on here?”

Becky laughed and the officer winced. She held up her book.

“Ummm...I really hate late fees?”

“Right. You two come with me.”

Without thinking, Becky flung the book at the cop's head. The brought his hands up, flashlight skittering onto the pavement. Becky drowned out his shout with one of her own.

“Run.”

Chuck didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted across the parking lot.

“Hey!”

Becky ran after Chuck and the cop gave chase.

“Get back here.”

“So what exactly do you plan to do?”

“Plan?” Dean asked.

Zachariah laughed. “This is it? After all, I hold all the cards, holy fire or not. I've got you and the prophet-”

“I know.” Dean said.

Dean eyed the ring of fire, tis light flickering back and forth over his face. He spun on his heel and jerked his head to the stairwell.

“We'll find you boy, rib tagging or not-” Zachariah yelled. “Can't say no this-”

“Yeah yeah.”

Dean wrenched open the stairwell door and took the stairs two at a time. Clary's hand skimmed over the railing. They raced across the first floor, out of the emergency doors and through the parking lot. The parking garage was deserted. Dean clambered over a barrier. Clary slowed and eased herself over the barricade. Dean extended a hand and she slid down the rest of the way. She slid into the backseat of the truck, barely putting her seatbelt on as Dean pealed out of the lot. 

“Cas, call Becky.”

Cas pulled the phone out of his pocket. Becky picked up on the first ring. Voice higher than usual as she rattled off her directions and recap of events. Dean turned down a lane and went into the parking lot of an old-fashioned drive in diner. Becky's bug rested in a parking space. Dean pulled up and parked beside her. 

Very few customers littered the lot. Waitresses’ weaved on rollerblades with trays of food as they skated past. Dean and Cas stood outside the truck as Clary leaned forward in the backseat. The door was open and her legs dangled above the pavement. Becky scrambled out and had to unlock Chuck's door. The prophet lay in the backseat, letting his knees rest the frame of the car. 

“Is it over?” he groaned.

“You're the prophet, you tell us.” Dean said.

“I doubt the holy fire will keep Zachariah for long.” Cas said.

Dean nodded. “All the more reason to get this show on the road.” He pointed to Chuck. “We've got room. Let's get the lead out.”

Chuck sat up. “What?”

“You heard. Zachariah's used you to get to us, which makes you a target. It's safer to come with us.”

Chuck stared at Dean. His lips twitched but he didn't speak. Cars idled behind them, roller blades skimmed the pavement, and customers chatted with each other. His gaze went back down to his shoes. Chuck's eyes glazed over, not seeing. He sat that way for a few minutes before looking back up at Dean.

“Ok then.”

Becky's gaze darted back and forth between the two men, rocking on her heels. Clary's stomach growled. She flushed but only Dean and Becky's attention flickered over once. 

“Ok, then I get the window seat.” Becky said.

“What?”

“Well I'm coming with you.”

Dean shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

Becky's face fell. “I-”

“No. It's too dangerous. Do you have some place to stay?”

She nodded, still quiet.

“Ok. Go there tonight. Cas can fix you up with a hex bag.”

“Alright.” Cas said. “Although it's not a guarantee.”

“That's ok.” Becky said, voice soft.

“I need a few things.” Chuck said.

Dean sighed. “Sure. In and out.” He looked over at Clary. “I'm starving. What do you want? Becky? It's on me.”

Clary shrugged. “Anything's fine. Thanks.”

Becky stood up. “I'll come with you.”

Cas followed suit. “I'll join you.”

Cas and Dean headed to the restaurant. Becky squeezed Chuck's shoulder before catching up with the other two, leaving Clary and Chuck in the parking lot. They stared at each other. Chuck gave a little laugh.

“So...”

“So...”

“You doing ok? You did get kidnapped by an angel.”

Chuck smiled quick and small. “So all things considered, not bad for a Tuesday.”

Clary smiled back. “Like all other Tuesdays then huh? So...it's always like this.”

He pursed his lips. “Fraid' so.”

“So this is what I wanted?” Clary whispered. “A life of scars and killing. Lucky me.”

“What?”

Clary shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “So, how did it go? The plan on your end I mean?”

“Good, good. Everyone survived and we've still got the sword.”

“Yeah?”

Clary looked at the overcast sky. In the distance, lightening flashed. She shivered. If she squinted hard enough up at the clouds, she could imagine wings behind the weather.

“Alright, so where's the sword?”

“Oh, it's in the backseat.”

Chuck leaned back and twisted so that he lay on his stomach. Wiggling, he disappeared into the car. Grunting, he shifted until he was sitting up, sword halfway in his lap and his hands shook as he tried to hold the sword. He turned so that he was facing Clary and leaning halfway out of the bug. Maellartach dragged behind him. As he pulled the sword forward, one of the zip ties broke. Clary leaned forward, hands outstretched.

The beach blanket slumped, sliding past the hilt and revealing a bit of the blade. Chuck's hand shook and the towel slipped more. It unraveled and dangled over the pavement. Chuck's hand slipped. He yelped and Maellartach fell out of his grip. Clary and Chuck reached for it at the same time. Clary grabbed the hilt and Chuck the blade. They caught the sword simultaneously. Catching the hilt was like plunging her hand in ice water. Pins and needles sensations traveled up her arms, getting as far as her chest before transitioning to being engulfed in fire. Clary shook, shuddering beyond her control, except for the hand that held onto Maellartach. As if it were stuck to her hand. Her vision shorted out, points of light dancing across her eyes. Then she couldn't see.

“Ithuriel!”

The earth was shaking. She was outside of her body, pushed out by fire and light. She was vaguely aware of her mouth moving. Ithuriel was whirling beside her. Clary turned to look at the pulsing light.

“I can see you.”

The light beat in a slow and easy pattern. Warmth went through her-couldn't tell if it was coming from her or Ithuriel.

“Us. It comes from us.”

“What's happening?”

Her vision came back. Images, sensations, and emotions shot into her. She saw a red haired girl with bright gold eyes staring back her. Pain so sharp and clear as that face gazed back at her with love. Love she had never seen before, never-

“Yes, yes I understand-”

She heard it from far away, her own voice speaking to her. The scene was changing rising up, rising through to the stars with a pair of wings all her own. She could see the turn of the universe, holding its own as she moved through it. Clary wanted to see those gold eyes again, that sweet smile that was going to make so many people happy-

“Clary!”

Her eyes opened. She snapped back to the drive in diner. Her knees burned. Clary realized she was kneeling on the pavement. Chuck beside her, hands on her shoulders, shaking her.

“Hey, hey can you hear me?”

“...Yeah.”

“You ok? What happened?”

“I don't know. I just-” She frowned. “You felt that right?”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah. Yeah like a bunch of knowledge got dumped into my brain.”

He let her shoulders go ant tried to stand up. Clary grabbed his elbows and together they got up. Clary led Chuck to the backseat of the truck. She went back and threw the beach towel over Maellartach. Careful not to touch the sword with her bare hands. When she put it in the back seat, she went around the other side of the truck and sat down next to him. It was while before either of them spoke. 

“Is that really going to happen?” she asked.

Chuck looked at his hands. “I think...I think that's up to you.”

Clary took a breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. The whole world encompassed inside a truck. Focus on that. Breathe in. Breathe out. It began to rain.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	21. All the wild horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own either series, this is just for fun.  
> Warnings: None, ya'll are safe.  
> Word Count: 3,916  
> Enjoy!

Rain pounded on the windows as they drove on through North Dakota. Nothing was recognizable to Clary as they powered on through the state. She slept off and on in the backseat. Dean had ignored the road map that Cas had found in the glove compartment. Her nausea would abate for a few hours before coming back with a vengeance and she hated the way sensations ran riot in her body. The radio crooned out a Willie Nelson tune and her chest lightened and she drifted off the sleep again. When she woke up again they were pulling into a driveway. The splattering of rain on the windshield as she tilted her head to look at the back of Dean. The way he hummed along to the music as he played with the turn signal. She could look over at Cas to see him watch the scenery out of the windows or read the map, occasionally throwing out a comment about directions. Watching them and staying inside the truck made her stomach settle and the aches in her body dull.

Clary adjusted herself, easing her seat belt around her as she sat up. A sign stuck out from the ground, its text a block-y blur from the water running down her windows. She could make out the shapes of cars in the distance and was reminded of Ben's yard and shivered. Scooting closer, the vague outline of a house came to her eyes. Dean parked the car with the tiniest jolt. The the overhead light clicked on. Clary rubbed her eyes. Chuck groaned next to her and when she turned around, she could see his hair sticking up every which way.

“Ok boys and girls this is our stop.” Dean said.

Clary gathered up her things, namely her mid-sized duffle bag and a water bottle that she stuffed into her jacket pocket. Chuck took a bit longer to get his things and Clary pushed his bags to him with her free hand as she slung the duffle over her shoulder. She waited another moment before opening her car door and stepping outside. Clary gasped as the first fat droplets hit her neck. Shivering, she pulled her coat up over her head. Chuck yelped as he stood outside, slamming his door. Clary followed Dean as he jogged up a muddy path lined with soggy shrubs. A long wrap around porch with a broken swing lying on its side greeted them. As soon as she was under its protection, Clary lowered her coat and shook her head like a wet dog. Dean caught the gesture and smirked, unaffected when she glowered in response. He turned to face the door, face sobering. Dean raised a hand, and it hovered for a moment. Chuck cleared his throat and Dean knocked on the door.

Thunder boomed in the distance, and Clary felt it reverberate in her gut, but she could have sworn she heard the tread of someone's shoes from inside the house. Dean stepped back mere minutes before the door opened to reveal Sam Winchester. His mouth was half open. Whatever he was about to say was stoppered. He stared. Lightening streaked through the sky. 

“You’re here.” Sam’s voice was oddly flat. Dean gave him a shaky nod. 

“Yeah.”

Sam held Dean’s gaze. Clary watched, a curious feeling overtaking her. Like she was shrinking past their notice. The two appeared to not care if the world slipped away-no, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. Yet, it didn’t bother her. She could see their expressions for what they were. Clary’s chest felt too heavy. There was no one for her to share that look with. A look that she would be lucky to have. Before she could count down the minutes or quantify these emotions any farther, Sam darted forward and embraced his brother. 

Dean grunted in surprise as the the taller man thudded into him and clasped him tight. Sam's cheek smushed into Dean's ear. Clary could see that Sam's hands were shaking. Dean froze, eyes wide. He paused. Sam hesitated and began to pull back but Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him back. For a brief moment, Dean buried his head in the crook of Sam's shoulder. She wasn't sure how long they stood there, or what it was that made them sense that it was time to stop but they pulled apart and scrutinized each other. 

“Come on.” Sam said. 

Sam led them inside. To Clary the clutter was new and familiar at once. The foyer was narrow by virtue of being full of things. Books piled high beside a coat rack. Clary looked up to see a spring of some kind of plant nailed to the top of the entryway. On the opposite side of the coat rack were two rifles. She assumed they were loaded. Hushed voices came from the living room and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Clary kept Chuck within her sights as she tried not to press behind Dean. Sam entered the room first.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

Clary peered into the room. Jo and Ellen sat at the kitchen table with a man wearing a faded trucker cap. His gaze was piercing and alert. He twisted in his seat and it took Clary a moment to realize that he was in a wheelchair. A shotgun lay across his lap. He looked back up to Cas, who gave a small nod of his head. He in turn gave a small nod of his own before he rested his gaze on Dean. 

“You look like crap, son.”

“Nice to see you too Bobby.”

The two stared at one another without speaking and by watching the two of them, Clary felt her tension leave immediately. Jo and Ellen were eyeing the two of them. Jo's smile was wide and her shoulders gave a little slump. Ellen put an arm around Jo and extended a hand to Clary. She gave the older woman a hesitant smile and was about to bypass Cas to move over to their side when Sam moved past Bobby. Sam patted his shoulder and was about to speak when someone cleared their throat. 

Gabriel wandered into the kitchen and waved at the newcomers. A half eaten candy bar was in his hand. Dean narrowed his eyes and Sam avoided the gaze of either of them. Bobby's mouth went into a hard line. Ellen and Jo looked a little more neutral. Gabriel closed the sliding doors that connected the living room and the kitchen together. He gave the once over and smirked.

“Heya kids.”

“Hello Gabriel.” Cas said. 

“What's he doing here?” Dean asked.

Cas gave Dean an odd look, as did Sam and Gabriel. Dean gave a little shrug at their scrutiny. Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“What? It's a legitimate question.” Dean said. “Guy's flaky. Thought you would have bailed by now.”

“Uh, did ya miss the part where Lucifer stabbed me?”

“Dean.” Sam said, voice firm. “He's with us. More or less.”

“More or less.” Dean repeated. 

“Yeah.” Sam shrugged.

He was about to say more, but Gabriel cut him off.

“Much as I looove touching reunions, I think we oughta get down to business. Hey Chuck, how's it going?” 

Now that attention had been called to him, Chuck shrank back. He pointed one index finger at the archangel.

“Y-you're Gabriel.”

Gabriel dipped his head. “Sup?”

Chuck gave another jittery laugh. “Not so bad, all things considering. You?”

Gabriel laughed back, a sound of genuine pleasure. Dean blinked in surprise as Cas smiled at the scene. Dean looked to Sam, who had a soft, odd smile. A thump came from the other room. Chuck started and Dean frowned. 

“Got someone you don't want us to know about?”

“No.” Bobby said. He jerked a thumb at Gabriel. “He-”

“It's Isabelle and-”

“Isabelle's alive?” Clary asked. “Is she ok? What about Alec and Magnus, and-”

Gabriel shoved open the doors. “Ask her yourself.”

Jo and Ellen exchanged looks, frowns deep and identical. Clary turned and went into the living room. Two women were seated on the couch. One was Isabelle. She leapt up out of her seat when she saw Clary, dark eyes wide. Her expression incredulous and Clary was surprised at how wide Isabelle's smile was. Movement caught Clary's eye. The woman put down the book and stared at her. Clary sucked in a breath, her gut clenched, and she couldn't feel her legs anymore.

“Clary. Your alive.” Isabelle said.

Clary shook her head as if trying to get rid of a fly. Isabelle's voice sounded far away. The woman-Jocelyn gaped at her. Her face suffused with emotion, for in Clary's mind, what must have been months. Jocelyn shifted in her seat, setting her book aside. Clary squirmed under her scrutiny.

“Clary? This is Clarissa?” she asked. 

She kept staring at Clary, but her question was answered by Ellen.

“Yes honey, this is your daughter.”

Clary's head whipped to Ellen and Jo, both of them tense as if expecting a fight. Clary frowned.

“What does that-of course I'm her daughter-” She turned back to face Jocelyn. “Mom, what does that mean?”

Jocelyn swallowed, eyes glassy and bright. She patted the empty seat next to her.

“Sit down Clarissa.”

“Clary.”

“Clary, right of course.”

Clary sat down, limbs buzzing as she did so. The fabric of the couch was scratchy, but beyond that the texture was nothing to her. Her throat felt lodged, chest heavy as if she had swallowed a cold stone. Even Ithuriel's fluttering grace couldn't do anything. Jocelyn kept staring but Clary couldn't hold her gaze for long, dropping her eyes to her lap. She wanted to leave. Frowning, she stifled her train of thought. Jocelyn was beginning to speak.

“Something happened...”

“What?” When she didn't answer, Clary stood up straighter. “What.”

Jocelyn began to speak and a part of Clary still found it difficult to hear what was being said to her, but she cleared her throat.   
“I know you want answers. I can see why-”

“Oh?” Clary gave a little hum and stared. “You know why I would want to know about my parents. My father and my brother-” the words burned her mouth, she had to spit them out before they could hurt her further. “Why wasn't I told about Jace? About this life that should have been mine.” Clary gave a bitter little laugh.

Jocelyn flinched and then her eyes hardened. “A life that isn't worth having. A life too short to enjoy from the moment they put a sword in your hands. Taught to hate-my friends turned to strangers and my husband.” She choked. “My husband took my children away from me. Made my son a monster-”

“Jace isn't a monster.”

Jocelyn gave Clary a look of horrified pity. “Oh. Oh honey. I don't know what you've been told, but-”

“But what? He has demon blood?” At Jocelyn's flinch she nodded. “Yeah, I know about that. I know that he can still love, despite what Valentine's done to him. Done to both of us.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Angel blood.” Clary shrugged. “More than normal.”

“That explains the runes.” Isabelle said. 

Cas nodded along with her words but said nothing. 

“It's also why I'm a-” Clary cleared her throat. “Upset. Blood doesn't define us. I don't know why you think-”

“Jonathan is different. Demon blood does terrible things, it would burn away his humanity.”

“His name is Jace.” Clary's mouth fixed in a firm line.

Jocelyn sighed. “It's not a life you would have wanted Clary.” her voice was soft.

Clary's shoulders sagged. “Maybe. But it was my choice to make.”

“I'm not sorry I took it away.” Jocelyn said. “If I could do it over again, I would. I would do everything over again.” 

Clary frowned. “I can't all have been bad.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “You and Lucien. Madeleine. Ragnor.” Her lips twisted up so fast, Clary thought she imagined it and it was replaced by a wistful smile. “Now it's gone. And I couldn't stop it. Oh, I know. I have you-now. Now, after my memories are gone.”

“What?”

“Don't look so shocked. I had to wake up somehow. Jo, Ellen, and your friend Simon-the vampire- used a counter spell that didn't match, so I lost my memories when I woke up. Before you ask, yes memories of you. I took you away from this life, watched you grow up, and then I lost those memories.”

Clary leaned back in her seat. She was glad everyone was silent, despite their stares. Her gaze rounded on Jo and Ellen. She scowled. 

“How could you do this to her? You were supposed to wait. I had the white book-and”

“Enough.” Isabelle snapped. “Clary, your mother is alive. Isn't that enough for you? Don't forget, some of us don't have mothers anymore.” Isabelle cut herself off.

Clary flushed, tears pooling in her eyes. She raised her arms up once and then looked down at her shoes. When she felt calmer, she turned to look at her mother.

“And Idris was destroyed.” Jocelyn said. “They had no realistic way of knowing you were alive, let alone knowing that.”

“Then why didn't you stay in the city?” Clary sat up. “I tried to find you.”

“It was too much of a risk to stay.” Ellen said. “Downworlders are very angry about what's happened to them and without shadowhunters to balance it out, it was going to get ugly. Look, I even felt nervous about leaving Simon there-”

“Simon's alive?” Clary asked. “I couldn't find him either.”

“He kinda went underground. Tried to help the rest of the downworlders there.” Jo put in. “I call him once a week.” 

“I wanna talk to him.”

“Ok.” 

Clary sat up and Jocelyn followed suit. The air hummed with tension. Gabriel perked up.

“Battle plan?” He asked.

“Sounds about right to me.” Bobby said. “I'll go put on some coffee.”

“Ah family reunions. Bring out the best in all of us.” Gabriel said.

Sam elbowed him as Dean scowled and everyone tried to fit into Bobby's kitchen.   
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Bobby groused as extra chairs were pulled into the kitchen, but set down mismatched mugs of steaming coffee. 

“Alright, time to go behind the music.” He addressed Dean, Cas, Clary, and Chuck.. “Don't be shy.” 

Dean nodded. “Show me yours if I show you mine.” 

Sam laughed. He fumbled for something in his pocket and when he set it on the table, Cas sucked in a breath. 

“That belonged to Famine.” He looked up at Sam. “How did you get this?”

Sam exchanged a look with Isabelle before trading a longer stare with Gabriel. He shrugged, jerking a thumb at Gabriel. Sam was almost smirking.

“I think he's magic.”

Gabriel scoffed. “You're never gonna let that go? I make one stupid joke and I have to hear about it for the rest of my life?”

“Yes.” Sam's lips were twitching.

Dean frowned, looking back and forth between Sam and Gabriel. Isabelle cleared her throat and launched into their encounter with the horseman Famine. They took turns in some places, with a certain rehearsed-ness to it. Dean's frown deepened but he didn't comment. Instead, he finished two rings out of his own pocket. War and Pestilence. Sam and Bobby peered down at the rings as Ellen traded looks with Dean and Jo. 

“So there's something about Pestilence.” Dean said.

“He's got a great sense of humor?” Gabriel said.

“He's planning something.” Cas said.

“Like...?” Isabelle asked.

“We're thinkin'...croatoan.” Dean said.

“What?” Sam shook his head. “How?”

“We don't know.” Cas replied. “Or when.”

Cas then recounted what happened with Pestilence. Isabelle and Jo exchanged disgusted looks as Bobby poured Ellen another shot. Dean made a gimme motion for a shot as well. Bobby raised his eyebrow and poured him a shot nonetheless. Dean raised it in thanks before downing it in a single swallow.

“And you haven't heard half of it.”

“There's more?” Sam asked. 

Clary and Dean exchanged a look. At Clary's nod, Dean continued with the story. He halted in a few places and whenever he did, Clary put a hand on his shoulder and he gave a basic rundown on events. Jocelyn frowned but said nothing. 

“Then there was Chuck.”

Isabelle groaned. “There's more?”

“You get used to it.” Bobby said.

“Finally. Get to the good stuff.” Gabriel said. 

Chuck jumped in, adding pieces to Dean and Cas's version. As they went on, Gabriel scowled at the mention of Zachariah's name. Sam leaned forward at the mention of the sigils and how they used them. When they finished speaking, both Dean and Chuck motioned for another shot. When Isabelle offered one to Clary, she shook her head. Both of them ignored Jocelyn's grimace and the table was silent. 

“So what now?” Ellen asked.

“We need a plan.” Cas said.

“Obviously.” Isabelle said. “I think she meant, as in what kind of plan.”

“I vote that our next idea have a little less stupid on it.” Bobby put in.

“Amen to that.” Gabriel said.

Sam snorted in response but said nothing else. Jo sipped her beer. Clary shifted in her seat. The pounding inside her wasn't coming from her heart and she took a steadying breath. Little points of light danced across her vision. An insistent sensation. Clary closed her eyes. The spots vanished and in their place lines formed, taking a thick shape. A semi complex array of circles....The image didn't last long and it came with a feeling of confusion. Clary sent a wave of gratitude and warmth, smiling back when she received it in kind. Opening her eyes, she waved off the concern of Jocelyn, Ellen, and Dean.

“What about....angels?” Clary asked.

Dean scoffed. “Seriously? You saw Zachariah. That's what Heaven wants.”

Clary raised up her hands. “I'm not saying they don't but what about Cas, he's from Heaven too. Maybe there are more like minded angels out there.”

“It's worth a shot.” Sam shrugged.

“Come on.” Dean said. 

“What other chance do we have?” Sam countered. 

“Our allies are getting thin.” Isabelle said. 

Dean turned to the angel sitting next to him. “Cas?”

Cas paused. “I know I wasn't the only one who wanted the apocalypse to stop.” 

Dean looked ready to reply, but Gabriel interrupted him and Cas looked away. Ellen took another pull from her beer as Gabriel started to speak. Bobby stared at the archangel.

“Ok, so I know a guy.” Gabriel said. “An angel. He knows how to get around. Top dollar he knows something.”

“I have a feeling that finding him is gonna be the real trouble.” Bobby said.

“Might be tricky, yeah.” Gabriel said.

“Then I suggest we hurry.” Cas said.

Gabriel grinned. “Knew you'd see it my way. So ya, you're totally coming with me.”

“I am?”

“He is?”

Dean and Cas asked in unison. Gabriel gave a small smile at the nonplussed reactions around him. Cas nodded. 

“Alright. I'll come with you.”

“Glad we got that out of the way.” Ellen said. “Now what do we do about those?”

She pointed to the three gleaming rings. Clary felt a flash of deja-vu but shook her head to clear it. Sam eyed them with distaste. 

“Well these rings are the key's to my brother's cage.” Gabriel put it.

“What?” Dean snapped, voice rising. “And you didn't think to tell us?”

“What I am? Mr. Exposition?” Gabriel huffed.

“Right now you are.” Jo said. “What exactly do these rings do?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “There the keys that can open and close the section of hell reserved for my bro'. Need all four of them though. And the incantation to open the cage. Not too mention having to trick Lucy back inside his box.”

“But you know the incantation?” Bobby asked. 

“Well sure but that's not the hard part.” Gabriel said. “We need the last ring. Death's.”

“We get it. Easier said than done.” Dean said. “Where can we find him?”

“Like I know the answer to that?” Gabriel said. 

“Answer's in the lore.” Bobby said. 

“What about the sword?”

Chuck spoke up for the second time. He cleared his throat as everyone's eyes turned on him again. He twirled the glass of whiskey in his hand. 

“I mean this is a crazy strong weapon. Zachariah wanted it as much as Dean.” He took a sip of his drink. “It's gotta be protected right? How we gonna do that?”

“The soul-sword had been under a host of enchantments when it was under the protection of the nephilim.” Jocelyn said.

“Well we'll just have to make do with what we've got.” Ellen said.

“Wait. Gabriel didn't you say that this weapon was meant for both Michael and Lucifer?” Sam asked. At Gabriel's nod he continued, “Well then couldn't they be killed by it?”

Gabriel's mouth tightened, but he couldn't cover up his expression quick enough and Sam's face fell a little. Dean leaned forward. He watched Sam's gaze turn contemplative. Gabriel seemed to be watching him too. Isabelle's expression was odd as she stared.

“Sam...?” Bobby asked.

“Well, what if...one of us used the sword on Lucifer?”

“Or Michael?” Dean said.

“Yeah.” Sam replied.

“Easier said than done, kiddo.” Gabriel said.

“Par the course.” Isabelle spoke up. 

Gabriel gave a quick glare but nodded. “True enough. Realistically, only Michael and Lucifer can wield Maellartach. That can extend to the vessels but that's about it.”

Sam nodded. “Ok.”

“So, what, the only two options of stopping Lucifer are really hard and might not work?” Clary asked.

“No, we've got three.” Jocelyn replied. “The third is to ask for reinforcements from Heaven. Which, as I understand isn't friendly to our cause.”

“Nope.” Sam said.

“Now these reinforcements-” Jocelyn began.

Clary blinked, she sat straighter in her chair despite the discomfort it gave her.. Jocelyn was straight backed herself, but not an ounce of pain was on her face. In fact, she was schooling a cool mask on her face. Clary remember seeing glimpses of this expression. What she used to call her mother's scary-calm face was now what she now knew to be a shadowhunter poker face. All this time, and this side of her mother was sleeping inside her, waiting to come out. Clary nodded to herself.

'And likely to stay out. So she lost a daughter...and I lost a mom.'

“Perhaps you should not see it that way.” Ithuriel stated.

“Maybe. I guess I thought I could handle loosing more things. But now...”

She let herself trail off and sent a wave of comfort to Ithuriel. She got another image of herself beside, what she assumed to be Ithuriel in a shape identical to her own. Ithuriel gave the mental image of squeezing Clary's hand. Clary smiled and returned to the conversation.

“So you're saying that we bust into Heaven, find these angels who are gonna help us, and take them back with us to stop the apocalypse?” Dean's voice more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.” Jocelyn said.

Dean took another shot of whiskey and leaned back in his chair. Isabelle pulled her hair back into a ponytail as Jo stretched. Bobby exhaled in one long breath.

“Guess we better get started then.”  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	22. Down South Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable. This is just for fun.   
> Warnings: Violence, slightly weird sexual content.  
> Word Count: 2,814  
> AN: Hope everyone had a good 4th. Enjoy!

Castiel and Gabriel stood outside the entrance to the posh three story brownstone. It was stucco and modeled after the southwestern adobe houses favored by rich ranchers. Sports cars of every variation parked along the u-shaped drive way that stretched from one end of the street to the other. A wrap around porch was cluttered with men and woman dressed in shorts and dresses, and even feathers. A balcony on the second floor was cluttered with people chatting and drinking. Music with a loud bass thumped down the street and pavement, snaking up Castiel's shoes and to his chest as though he was given a second heartbeat. 

“Are you sure this is the place?” 

Castiel frowned as his foot touched an empty beer can. The snug cul-de-sac in a gated community in San Francisco was not what he expected.

“You saw the location spell. He's in there.”

“Alright then.”

Together they walked toward the party. The porch was cluttered and Castiel darted about, trying to avoid people's beer bottles and ash trays as he followed Gabriel into the open house. The door was halfway open. A man was hanging on it's door frame, pale and shaking. Cas brushed past him and the man bolted. He went out into the yard, retching beside a tree. Castiel turned his head away and kept a a careful distance of others as he tried to weave his way around them.

The second floor wasn't much better. Castiel stuck close to his brother, nipping his heels. A hypnotic beat began to play, and Castiel watched as bodies began to press themselves together, grinding and swaying to the music. They seemed comfortable around each other in varying states of undress. Castiel stared. Men and women seemed to know just what to do. Just how to move their hips to fit each stomach or rear. A woman in a halter dress brushed past Castiel. What caught his his attention were her bright green eyes. She turned to greet the man next to her with a lingering kiss. He watched the woman open her mouth wider, the man tilting her jaw just right, and she wrapped her arms tight around him. Castiel mimicked the head tilt and licked his lips. Gabriel tugged on his sleeve. Castiel felt his face warm at the knowing smirk Gabriel gave him but he didn't comment and followed the archangel up a narrow flight of stairs.

The door at the top of the stairs was closed, but Gabriel gave one strong tug and it unlocked on its own. This room was much smaller than the previous two, with a single kitchenette that occupied the room. A table stood in the center, its surface was littered with bottles of champagne and designer vodka. One petite redhead was slumped in a chair, head in between in her arms. A fluffy black kitten licked at the whip cream in between her toes.

Down the hall, another woman snored on a sleek leather couch. The only music was coming from what Castiel assumed was the bedroom. It's door was shut as well. A sudden thump came from inside, followed by a brief shout. Gabriel unlocked that door as well and Castiel darted inside. He stared. 

In the center of a plush, Spanish mosaic inspired room. Large plaster columns kept in the four corners of the room. The floor was covered with overlapping oriental rugs. Chandeliers swung from the ivory and gilt painted ceiling. Their lights swung as if in a slight breeze. A king sized bed in the very center of the room. Castiel blinked. The rumpled sheets on the bed sheered underneath the amber lights. Limbs flailed, as the sheets twisted around like broken banners. Three people tussled on the bed. The man sandwiched in between two redheads, who were very enthusiastic with their male partner. 

Said male had thrown his head back, adam's apple bobbing back and forth as he shook out strangled pants. One woman wrapped her limbs across the man's torso, his back to him as she furiously moved against him. Her hips giving audible snaps, a hint of something bulky between her legs. Her gave little squeals as she grinded up and down his backside, flushing as she nipped at his neck and ears. woman with long red hair was on all fours, mouth working furiously. Both her hands kept a tight grip on the man's hips. His hands, however wandered alongside the girl's backside, dipping into the inside of her thighs. She gave a muffled cry. The two women moved in a sudden sharp unison. The man groaned. 

Cas exhaled sharply. Only the man looked up to see his door open. His eyes widened as he looked at Gabriel and Castiel. 

“Hello gents.” 

His shot blond hair was a rumpled mess, sticking up on either side of his head. Grey-blue eyes blinked up at them. Slim pink lips broke into a smile. Pale wisps of hair on his chest. Leaning forward, he spread out his arms. The redhead on his right tumbled out of his lap and flopped back onto the thick pillows. Her hair fanned out behind her and she made no attempt to cover herself up. The other, shorter haired redhead turned on her side, pressing herself into the mattress. She pulled the sheet up, but it was too late to protect her modesty, nor did it detract from her curves. The sheet also did not hide the very obvious bulge that was the effect of a strap-on. A strangled note came from deep in Castiel's throat, flush going all the way up to his ears.

“You've always had a thing for redheads.” Gabriel whistled. “Long time no see, Balthazar.”

Castiel looked in between the two angels. He stared at Balthazar, his eyes going cold and and mouth pressing into a grim slash.

“Hello Balthazar. I'm wondering why you're still alive.”

“Well it's nice to see you too, Cas.”

“I thought you dead.”

Balthazar gave a little laugh. “Well that was the point. Can't ditch Heaven without faking your death.” 

“Why do that?” Castiel asked.

This was met with incredulous stares from both Gabriel and Balthazar. The two women scooted closer together and began wrap their arms around each other, kissing with wet smacking noises. Gabriel craned his neck to watch before looking back to find Castiel glowering at Balthazar. Castiel advanced and Balthazar raised up his hands.

“Hey, who wants to do the apocalypse? This little blue ball of ours is the funnest planet I've been on this side of the universe. I just got here,” he laughed. “So no, I'm not leaving this party.”

“I'm not asking you to leave.” Castiel said.

“Then what are you asking, old friend?” Balthazar asked.

Castiel paused. He took in Balthazar's appearance on the bed, preoccupied with two women. The cluttered nightstand with its pill bottles next to another bottle of wine. The longer he stared, the more of the past flashed before his eyes. 

“I don't want to fight you.” Castiel said.

Balthazar eyed him for a moment. His gaze sober for just a flash. “Neither do I. So...you wanna stay for a drink?” At Castiel's non-response, he clicked his teeth. “Ah, so this isn't a social call.” 

“No. We acquire your assistance.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.” He craned his head to speak to Gabriel. “I take it you're the muscle, Gabriel?”

Gabriel leaned back, tilting his head. “Muscle? I dunno how to feel about that, but hey I knew coming to you was best. We need a backdoor to get into Heaven.”

“Why not just do it yourself? An archangel like you-”

“It's not for us.” Gabriel said. “We can't enter Heaven without tipping our hand-or- I can't and Cas here can't get in period.” 

Castiel's face darkened and Balthazar laughed as Castiel squared his shoulders. He kept his eyes on Balthazar. The other angel winked at Castiel. They kept staring at one another. Gabriel stepped in between them. 

“I know you've got some skills. Know more than most.”

“What of it?”

“Just point us in the right direction.” Gabriel said. 

Balthazar threw back his head and sighed and sighed. “Of all the angels-I didn't believe you to preach this to me. Always slumming it, never taking a stand.”

“Yeah well, things change. Besides I heard you owe Cas here a favor-”

“I might.” Balthazar bit out.

Gabriel shrugged as Castiel kept staring at Blathazar.

“Hey you like this world? Well with my bro's, there ain't gonna be one if they get their way.”

Balthazar hummed a little bar of music that Castiel wasn't familiar with. Some sudden ache settled over Castiel's chest. This worry over the heart that was thrumming inside this body. A body that followed his command, yet he was becoming powerless to its needs. Another sudden rush of sensation come to him as he looked at Balthazar, hands outstretched.

“Please brother. Help us.”

Balthazar stared at him. He made no more to touch Castiel, unblinking as minutes passed. Castiel swallowed. His wings ruffled, sensing the weight of the moment. Castiel kept his gaze fixed on Balthazar. With an explosive sigh, Balthazar dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Damn it all. Alright, follow me.” Balthazar twisted around to this two bed mates. “Be back soon. Don't wait up.”

The short haired one pulled away from her long haired partner and waved as the three angels walked out of the room before going back to kissing. Balthazar led them back downstairs. By now the other people were in varying stages of undress. No chair, couch, or lounge was left unoccupied as couples and trios wrapped around each other with sensual groans. No one batted an eye as the trio weaved past the party-goers. Half dim lights, as a gentle pulse of multi-colored strobe continued to beat in time to the trance music. Gabriel smirked as the blood rushed in Castiel's face. On the first floor they passed crystal cut bowl holding dozens of car keys. Balthazar turned down a short hallway that led to a kitchenette. 

“A den of inequity.” Castiel said.

Balthazar raised an eyebrow. “In another language, it's called fun.”

“I know my dens of inequity.” 

“Dens?” Balthazar snorted. “Language, Cas, language. I take it you finally flapped your wings, as it were? A new experience or two?”

“Don't be vulgar.”

Balthazar laughed. “Vulgar? I knew you weren't the type to kiss and tell but you can tell me anything.”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Oh yes there is.” Gabriel cut in. “Something to do with a certain righteous man-”

Balthazar gave an exaggerated gasp. “Is that so? A story for another time then.”

He kept them inside the cozy kitchenette with a sleek counter. A rack for pans and hung directly over their heads. Cabinets ajar with their contents threatening to spill out. Gabriel moved at the same time that Balthazar did. The former started to raid the fridge as the latter pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. Gabriel took a slice of pie from out of the fridge, peering over Balthazar's shoulder as he began to scribble something on the paper. Castiel went to the left of Balthazar to look. On the paper was the circle, with a design of complex smaller circles connecting themselves together within the initial large circle. Castiel sucked in a breath.

“Is this-”

Balthazar nodded. “The back door to Heaven.”

“But it's at a fixed point and guarded by other angels.” Castiel said.

Balthazar winked. “Not unless you've got the right ingredients.”

“And?”

“You'll need Myrrh, salt from the dead sea, the remains of fallen warriors, and a placenta of a first born infant. The circle must be drawn in holy oil and the caster inside the circle before he lights a match.”

“So no angel can use this spell?” Castiel asked.

“Nope. However, an Enochian chant is needed.” Balthazar took the sheet of paper and wrote out a phrase in a looping script. “There.” 

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. Yeah we can work with this.”

“Good because this is all you'll get from me.”

Castiel sighed. “I understand. It would have been nice to fight beside you again.”

Balthazar gave a little shake. “Same to you as well.” He looked away. “You-”

The windows rattled, as if something heavy dragged across them. Cracks appeared in the glass. Screeching filled the air, followed by thick, mucus filled snarls. Noxious odors permeated the air despite the closed doors and windows. Ancients. None of the human guests did more than stir and continued to please each other. Balthazar's expression turned thunderous. He paled, his whole body shook and he clenched his hands into fists. Blood oozed from the gaps in between his fingers. His lips pulled back to reveal very white teeth. The pinkness of his gums almost garish in comparison. 

Castiel shivered, hairs rising on the back of his neck. Host body responding to the hot-cold sensation traveling throughout him, almost in tandem with the rage building within. His stance mirrored that of Balthazar, not unlike the expression Castiel could feel fixing his features. Gabriel was trembling beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw a grin stretch itself across Gabriel's face. 

Balthazar rounded on the two angels. “Are those what I think they are?” Balthazar asked. 

“Yes.” Castiel spat, voice shaking. “They are here.”

“...They followed you.” Balthazar hissed.

“It doesn't matter.” Gabriel cut in. “You know what must be done.”

Balthazar's face set, hardened as his eyes sweapt over his surroundings. Another roar and the crockery rattled above their heads from the kitchen rack. A woman shouted out in one long breathy voice. Castiel scowled as Balthazar and Gabriel exchanged sudden grins. 

“So you wanna take this one or...?” Gabriel said.

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Mine obviously.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “But we led them to you.”

“No no, I insist.” Balthazar said. “My life certainly wouldn't be complete without it. Now bugger off already.”

Castiel nodded and Gabriel's answering grin was feral. 

Gabriel grabbed the paper. “Hate to cut n' run.”

Balthazar smirked. “It's what you do.”

“Careful, I can still smite you.”

“These tossers might beat you to it.”

Glass shattered. People began to run, a few bolting into the kitchen. Balthazar tsk'ed.

“Honestly.” To Castiel he said, “It was nice to see you again.” 

“Same to you as well.”

Gabriel yanked Castiel's trench coat, pulling him close. The archangel snapped his fingers. They left the screams and wing beats behind, appearing in the middle of a deserted street. Lampposts shone with a bright light as the chill air ruffled around them. Castiel looked around despite knowing they were alone. 

“We need to hurry.”

Without a word, Gabriel snapped his fingers and they disappeared as quickly as they arrived.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The darkened steps of the courtroom were silent. Bright lights from the street corner cast an expansive glow to its surroundings. However the woman standing on the steps was half in shadow. Her thick black hair curled around the edges of her dark leather jacket. She stood with her arms crossed. A long shadow sharp behind her. With every exhale, small puffs of air blew around her mouth before disappearing. 

“Have you been waiting long?” 

Meg turned to the new voice, an echo ringing around the Corinthian columns. A tall figure emerged from the half light. Dark eyes and slicked back white hair. A smirk on full pink lips. Sebastian. 

“Took you long enough.” Meg smirked back at him. “I thought you were dead.”

“Turns out your old man is more generous than you thought.” Sebastian said. “Speaking of, he tell us what we're planning next?”

“Yeah. You remember Idris?”

“Of course. Fond memories.”

“Yeah, we'll we're gonna make some more.” Meg laughed. “You ain't seen nothin' yet.”

Sebastian jerked his head in the direction of the road. “Let's get outta here.”

Meg sauntered over to Sebastian. She stopped one step higher then him and peered down at him. Meg leaned forward, enough for tendrils of hair to brush Sebastian's shoulder. The tip of her nose skimmed his as she opened her mouth. The light post caught a glimmer of sharp teeth peeking from plump lips. Sebastian's tongue darted out. His pupils dilated under the hook-like shadows that he had been thrown under. Meg dipped her head farther down just as Sebastian brought up his, their lips inches apart. Meg gave a little huff, the vibration carrying easily to Sebastian's mouth. It was only for a second-

“Oh baby, I thought you'd never ask.” Meg's voice shook. 

Sebastian and Meg jogged down the steps. Together, the two walked back into the shadows of the night.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	23. Hatikva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The faerie land series, along with supernatural, and the mortal instruments series are all owned by Holly Black, Eric Kripke, and Cassandra Clare respectively. Since I'm none of them, this is just for your funsies.
> 
> Warnings: character deaths, higher than typical violence, hating on monsters/non-humans, semi-hate speech, angst, and language.
> 
> Word Count: 12,925
> 
> AN: I know this is late, I just back from vacation. Hope you all enjoy this one.

Bobby's living room was crowded. Jocelyn and Clary shared a couch. Ellen sat at the far end of the couch. Jo perched on the armrest of the couch , hands in her lap. Dean leaned forward, small of his back against Bobby's desk. He crossed his arms as he stared at everyone else. Cas stood across from him by the wall, arms at his sides. Sam brought out some chairs from the kitchen. Chuck fidgeted in his, wood creaking with his weight. Isabelle crossed her legs together in her seat as she tried to keep her face impassive as Sam sat down next to her and kept her face neutral as Gabriel sat down Indian style on Bobby's rug. Bobby himself sat in the chair behind his desk.   
“So let's go over this again.” Bobby took a sip of his drink. “What kind of spell we talking about?”

Cas moved to the desk, sliding the piece of paper to Bobby. The older man bent forward, trucker cap obscuring his eyes for a minute before he straightened back up. He clicked his tongue.

“This'll be a picnic.” Bobby grit out.

Dean nodded and listed off the ingredients. Clary paled, but kept silent as Jo and Ellen glanced at each other. Cas spared a look to Clary but focused his attention back to Dean. Gabriel hummed a little in his throat. 

“We can get this stuff easy.” Gabriel said.

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Except for the placenta.”

Clary shifted in her seat, with only Jocelyn catching the movement. Neither said anything as Bobby snorted in response.

“Sure. Easy as pie.” He rolled his eyes. “Tell me, just how were you planning on doing this?”

“Ask politely?” Gabriel said.

Bobby huffed, grumbling as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. Clary rubbed her arms, swallowing hard. Dean's eyes darted to Clary real quick before Sam shot his brother an inquisitive look, gaze following Dean's. His eyes widened as he looked at Clary but he shook his head. Gabriel smirked, ignoring Cas's frown. Silence grew in the room, like a stench rising to the top. It pressed on until Clary cleared her throat. 

“Well a please works just fine for me.” she said. 

Bobby turned to look at her, as Ellen blinked once. Jo caught Dean's eye. He looked away and when she tried to do the same with Cas, the angel rubbed the back of his neck. Jocelyn sucked in a breath. She glowered at Clary.

“Is this-have you-”

Clary sucked in a breath of her own. Pursing her lips, she gave a little nod. Jocelyn, Ellen, and Jo stared back at her, almost more than the men in the room. Jocelyn's gasp, while not being that loud, being the only sound in the room, was a sharp slap of a sound. 

“Please tell me you're not.”

Clary nodded. “I am.” She laughed, feeling braver than she was. “Isn't anyone gonna congratulate me?”

“Congratulations.” Cas said. 

Clary laughed again, high with a sharp edge. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. “I know I know, so not what you pictured for your little girl, is it? Here you can't even remember me and here I am doing the most stereotypical teenager thing of all time.”

“Clary....” Her mother sighed. “I'm more worried about-about-” she swallowed, a loud gulping in her mouth. “If he was wanted or...or not.” She bit off the rest of her sentence. Jocelyn shuddered. “Who was he?”

Clary closed her eyes, full body shudder racking her frame. She gulped back her nausea, head spinning. Every hair on her body stood on end, as heat flashed through her. Tears glazed over her vision. She tried to take a breath as her lips quivered. Clary choked.

“H-h-he was...” She tried to square her shoulders. “It was Jace.”

Jo closed her eyes, Sam choked and hid it behind a cough, Gabriel shrugged as Bobby looked around at everyone else. Ellen fixed Clary with a troubled look, as Cas bowed his head a quick moment. Jocelyn's lips quivered. 

“Oh Clary.” her breath shuddered. “I'm so sorry.”

“Why?” Clary snapped. “Just what is there to be sorry for?”

Jocelyn paled. “Y-you can't be serious. Jonathan is-is-your-he's a monster.”

It was Clary's turn to pale as she clenched her fist. “No. He's. Not.”

Jocelyn leaned closer to Clary, hands trembling as she brushed fingers along Clary's cheek. Clary jerked her head away from the touch. Jocelyn flinched, pulling back as her lips twitched and she gave a little nod of her head. Jocelyn cleared her throat, her eyes glassy and bright. Her back straightened as if she were facing down the point of a sword. The room stayed quiet. Clary's eyes had narrowed down to hard chips, almost resembling glittering emeralds. Her face was pinched and pale, almost giving her hard angles that didn't seem to exist before. Jocelyn took another, almost imperceptible suck of air and then her face was impassive as she began to speak.

“Yes he is. I knew him to be a monster the first moment I held him in my arms. For you to suggest otherwise...” She gritted her teeth and whetted her lips as if that would help pry her mouth back open. “I don't know what he's done to you but I will not let it stand.” 

“He hasn't done anything I didn't want!” Clary shouted back.

Jocelyn paled, voice going even flatter as she entered a kind of scary calm. Clary sucked hard on her teeth. She held her gaze. Jocelyn was the first to look away, eyes darting around the room to the quiet audience.

“We'll talk about this later.” Jocelyn said. 

The silence grew heavier, weightier as no one met Clary's eyes. Finally Bobby cleared his throat.

“Don't get me wrong, this an illuminating conversation, but how exactly do you plan on getting us this ingredient?”

Dean stared at Clary. “Are you sure?”

She sighed. “It's either me or you do something really creepy to a total stranger.” she said. 

Dean's lips twitched for a moment. “Ok then. Yours it is. So what about the other ingredients?”

“As Gabriel said, the myrrh and the salt we can get easy.” Cas said.

“What about the remains of the fallen warriors?” Sam said. “Maybe a cemetery that has a war memorial?”

“No.” Isabelle said. “We need to go to the Silent City. There's a necropolis inside. Every last nephilim buried there was an honorable warrior. There is enough magic on those remains that they'll still fight for the cause.” 

“Fight for the cause?” Sam asked.

Isabelle continued as though he hadn't said anything. “The nephilim are still in this fight. We still have a responsibility for this world.” She lifted her head high.

Jocelyn nodded. “For what it's worth, a nephilim's word is a determined one. There is an entrance in New York City.” 

“That place again.” Jo said. “We're coming with you.”

Isabelle pursed her lips. A wistful look ghosted over her face for a moment before hardening into something else. “You know, a year ago I would have said that that would have been impossible for mundanes, but I guess that's over now.”

“That may be, but we still need a game plan.” Bobby said. “How is getting' all this spell work gonna matter if you boys get into Heaven and lose there?”

Dean scowled. “Oh I'm sure God'll help us out.”

Cas glared at Dean. “This is a strategic point, not a philosophical debate.” In three quick steps he was at Dean's shoulders, leaning forward. “God may be difficult to find, but his Heaven is easier to navigate.”

“Come again?” Bobby asked. “You gotta blueprint of something?”

“We do.” Gabriel said. “The Axis Mundi. A road that'll get you wherever you need to go. Now,” Gabriel held up his fingers and smoke rose up at his fingertips. Waving his fingers, slender streams of smoke began to move of their own accord to connect with one another until they formed an intricate web. The web expanded until it made itself three dimensional. The web had multibpule layers, many of them circular in direction. “This is the Axis Mundi. Those lower layers you see there are the personal Heavens' of the souls of men and women residing there. Know you don't need to be there, so its a good thing that the array I gave you will take you someplace else entirely.”

“Which is where?” Dean asked, voice tight and suspicious. “Where the hell you takin' us?”

Cas and Gabriel exchanged looks, the former's frowned deepened as the latter smirked. 

“The sections of Heaven reserved for angels. Namely the angelic prison that is found on the fifth level.” Cas pointed to it, the lines in the map shuddering as his finger hovered over the edges of it. “Free the angels imprisoned within the level. They will be our allies.”

“Wait, angel prison?” Sam asked. “Ok, so not counting why they're in the first place, how are we gonna pull that off?”

Cas made a sharp noise, like a sigh, deep from his throat. “Not all the angels were put there fairly...as I can attest to. Although it's up to your judgment for which angels you wish to ally with.” Cas said.

“Right. So we're not asking for God's help, but other angels instead?” Chuck suddenly piped up from the back of the room. “Is that a good idea?”

“It's the only one we've got.” Gabriel put it. “We need allies. I figure we're not the only angels on the block who want to put a stop to end times.”

“You just have to avoid the guards and any other angels you might encounter, particularly the head interrogator, Iruel.” Cas said.

“Oh, is that all?” Isabelle said. “No challenge at all.”

Cas pulled his gaze away from Dean to look at Isabelle. “Due to your angel heritage, I doubt the spell would work.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “If you insist. So then who is going on this mission?”

“I will.” Dean said. 

“I'll go too.” Sam spoke up. 

Bobby clicked his tongue. “No surprises there. I'll be on standby,” he glowered. “As usual. Ok, then, depending on how many angels we get, we need to ward everything beforehand. Especially, since that sword is such a linchpin.”

“We'll ward the sword.” Jocelyn said. “You did say that you have a panic room?”

“Yeah, just gotta put heavy duty wards around it. If the upstairs don't know we have it, they wil soon.” 

“Indeed.” Jocelyn said.

“So then we'll have....what 8 months to get these ingredients. I know that angels won't give us that much of a window of time, but how do we hold off the angels in the meantime if we do get that much time left?” Jo asked.

“Ermmm...” Clary did the math in her mind. “Actually, since it's the start of December, it'll be 7 months.” 

Jo blinked. “Oh, ok then.”

“Still, we should get the spell ready asap.” Clary said.

“Oh yeah.” Jo said. “So if we're going to New York, then I think we should call up Simon for his help.”

Clary perked up at that. “So we can bring him back here?” she turned to Bobby. “Right?”

Bobby looked at her for a moment before sighing. “Sure, the more the merrier.”

“That begs the question of who is staying here to defend the sword and who is going to get the rest of the spell materials?” Ellen said.

Bobby snorted, gesturing to his wheelchair. “Well I'm gonna hold down the fort. So, how many idjits wanna help me guard the homestead?”

“I'll stay.” Jocelyn said. “Clary will too.”

Clary raised an eyebrow. “I will?”

Jocelyn held up her hands. “You're pregnant and with a crucial piece of our strategy.”

Clary scowled and opened her mouth to retorted when Ellen beat her to it.

“She's right.” Ellen said. “Jo and I'll go to the city and bring back Simon for you. Trust us.”

“Alright.” Clary said.

“Me as well.” Isabelle said. “You're going to need a guide to the Silent City.”

“Sam and I'll come with you gals.” Dean said.

“We'd appreciate it.” Ellen said.

“Well then what are we waiting for?” Clary said.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________  
The drive to New York City was lengthy but uneventful. Dean tapped his fingers on his Impala's steering wheel as he sung along to 'Boston' and 'Bob Seger'. Sam hunkered down in the passenger seat, maps spread out over his lap, the paper crinkling as he tried to get in a comfortable position. In the backseat Isabelle sat in between Ellen and Jo. All three women kept their eyes on their surroundings. Isabelle's whip lay coiled around her wrists like a sleeping pet. Ellen looked out the window as Jo flipped open her cell phone the moment they hit town. As Dean drove down the familiar main street, Jo dialed a number and put on speaker phone. A harried voice on the other end picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Simon?” Jo said. “It's us.”

“Us?”

“Me, mom, Sam, Dean, and Isabelle.”

“They're alive?” Simon whooped. “That's awesome! You guys all ok? How did you make it out?”

“One question at a time.” Dean said. “Yeah, it's good to hear you too. I'll skip the details but we need ingredients for a spell, and it's in the Silent City-”

“Clary? Is Clary alive?”

“Yes.” Isabelle said. “She is and she wants us to bring you back with us.” she cleared her throat. “So what about everyone else? Who is else is still alive?”

“From what Camille told me, Magnus and Alec are still alive. She didn't tell me where they are though.”

“What about Jace?”

“No idea.”

“We'll rehash later.” Dean said. “Where are you, we coming to you?”

Simon rattled off an address. Dean took a sharp turn as he drove down to the upper west side. The Impala rumbled up to an apartment with three stories. An old brownstone building, with a looming gargoyle hunched over the topmost corner of the third floor. A fire escape was directly below it. Jo sucked in a breath as Ellen eyed the building up and down. Dean caught their expressions and frowned.

“Wanna share with the rest of the class?” 

“We've been to this apartment before.” Ellen said. “A young man named Luis helped us.”

“Oh right.” Sam said. “Isn't that the name of the guy who woke Jocelyn up?”

“Yes. He's got the sight.” Ellen said.

Everyone piled out of the impala and Dean knocked on the door. The door opened a crack. A single dark eye peered through the crack in the door. A hoarse voice. 

“What do you want?”

Ellen brushed past Dean to get to the front of the door and stare at the eye. 

“Luis, it's Ellen and Jo.”

The door shut, the locks' tumblers clicking for a second before the swung open. A dark skinned young man wearing piercings and dreadlocks stood on the threshold. He glared at them with one dark eyes, and the other a cloudy white. 

“If I didn't already know that you called Simon, I'd tell you to fuck off.” he said.

“Nice.” Dean ground out. “You say that to all your customers?”

“Only the risky ones.” Luis shot back. “I thought I was done with nephilim.”

“Funny, that's what everyone's been saying lately.” Isabelle snapped. “Let us in. Now.”

Luis scowled. “Yes ma'am I live to serve. I-”

“Are they here-is that them?” Simon called from inside the room.

Luis opened the door wider and waved his arm. Isabelle strode into the room and Luis watched as the rest of the hunters filed in. He peered outside for a second before shutting the door. The interior was sparse, with only a stack of mattresses as a place to truly sit. Piles of old blankets were stacked up in one corner. Thick cables, snaked from corner to corner. A lone trickily chandelier swung from the ceiling, throwing dim light around, despite the much brighter lights already on. A spacious living room, with its carpet wearing holes and revealing warped floorboards. A single linoleum tabletop counter divided the living room and the more meager kitchen. 

To Ellen and Jo the only change to the room were the people within it. Simon stood beneath the chandelier. He grinned at them. There were three others within the room. A black boy leaned back onto the pile of blankets. The sudden influx of new people didn't waken from his doze. His tangled dreads brushed along his sunken cheeks. Only Luis glanced back in his direction, shoulders loosing their rigidness after he looked back at the teen. Another young man with a short hair cut, gaped at them, but said nothing. The young woman beside him stared at them without embarrassment. Her green hair was in tangles.

“So what's happening?” Luis said. 

“What he said.” Dean nodded to Luis. “Enlighten me?”

Simon cleared his throat. “Ok, so me and Luis ended up kinda working together.” Simon smiled, a brief flash of teeth before continuing. “Luis has a lot of info on the Seelie Queen. She's really making it hard to live safely here.”

“Oh?” Sam asked. “Not that I'm surprised, but how?”

“You know there are two courts right?” Luis said. “The Seelie and Unseelie. Also known as the bright and night courts. Not to mention the exiled fae that are living around the Tristate area. Right now, now that the tithe has passed, so that the fae from neither side got their freedom for seven years.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Course, that isn't the fun part.”

“What could be more fun?” the other boy muttered, curly hair shuddering as he shook his head.

Luis gave the boy a slight look and the boy flushed. Luis continued speaking as the other boy looked away back to the green haired girl. 

“The fun part is that the two courts are at war-one that the Seelie Queen aims to win-”

“Her again?” Dean snorted.

“Oh so you know her?” Luis said. “Then you know that she's hell bent on getting her way. She attacked the Unseelie court by glamouring humans into doing her dirty work with kamikaze style attacks.”

“There's more.” Simon said. “Central Park has been taken over by fae.”

“That's not far from the entrance to the Silent City.” Isabelle put in. 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Awesome.”

Simon looked in between Isabelle and Dean. “What do you need to go there for?”

“Spell work.” Ellen said. She gave him a quick run down on the last few days. “So that's why we're here.”

“So we need a plan.” Simon said.

“We?” Luis replied. “I case you haven't noticed, I've got a shit storm on my hands.”

“Then it's lucky we're in town.” Dean said. “So like Simon said, we need a plan.”

Luis stared hard at Dean, both eyes locked on the hunter and Dean straightened his back. Luis then regarded Simon for a moment longer. 

“Got any ideas?”

“How about we split up?” Simon suggested. “Just for a bit, I mean. Since you guys need those remains, one group goes to get it while another goes to stop the Seelie court from doing anything in the meantime?”

Jo gave a brief smile. “It's almost an even number.”

“I'll go to the Silent City, obviously.” Isabelle said. 

“Jo and I'll go with you.” Ellen said.

“Me too.” Simon said.

The green haired girl cleared her throat. “So then I'll go to the Seelie court.”

Dean turned around to regard her. His eyes looked her up and down. Her tangled green hair tumbled down a leather jacket covered shoulders, a size too big. She had ripped acid wash jeans. Tears revealed purple tights underneath them. A black t-shirt that had a design of a gold lion with a bright shimmer to it. Underneath the lion was a scrawl of Hebrew. Finger-less gloves adorned her hands. 

She looked wan, a tightness around the corners of her gray eyes. Her mouth was in a set line, arms crossed. Posture stiff, as though she was trying not to slump over. Her hands were shaking. Dean frowned. This young woman looked ready to fall over, and she was already so slim that she seemed as though she could have been tripped over in the slightest breeze if not for the look in her eyes. She was glaring at them. Her eyes were burning with an intensity that made Dean shiver. 

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Kaye.” she pointed her thumb at the boy beside her. “That's Corny. We need to speak to the Queen. So if you guys are gonna screw her over that's just fine by me.”

Corny swallowed. “Uh, Kaye we don't know these guys. No offense.”

Sam waved off the comment as Isabelle sniffed, raising her chin. 

“We don't really know Luis either. Besides, the enemy of my enemies is my friend.” her smile was brittle. “So yes, we need to get to the Seelie Court.”

“And I said I would take you there.” Luis said.

“I'll come with you guys.” Sam said. “I can back you up.”

Dean scowled. “What about the Silent City?” he asked. “Ellen and the girls will need you.”

Isabelle snorted. “In case you haven't noticed, we can take care of ourselves.”

“Humor me. If you don't want the tall brother, then I'll go with you.”

“Don't be stubborn Dean.” Ellen said. “We've got enough fire power between us to take care of what comes our way. Why don't you help out your brother and the other group.” The way she said it, it didn't sound like a suggestion.

With the crowd of the room rounding on him, Dean held up his hands. He traded a look with Sam. The taller man shrugged, with a bit of a pleading look on his face.

“Alright alright. I'll go to the Seelie Court.” he said.

“Ok. Thanks.” Luis said. “Now what?”

“How about this?” Sam said. “What if we-”  
___________________________________________________________________________  
Castiel blinked as the arid wind ruffled his hair. He shifted his stance as he adjusted his wings. They may not have been visible to the human eye, but they twitched about his back as he hurried to Gabriel's side. The overwhelming smell of salt lured them to the shore. When they finally got close enough for the dark waves to lap at their shoes, did Castiel finally speak. 

“Do you suppose that they've got the remains already?” he asked.

Gabriel pushed his way forward into the murky water. Hands disappearing beneath a wave, Gabriel twisted his head around to smirk at Castiel. The angel raised an eyebrow at the mischievous expression. Gabriel didn't quite sober, but he regarded Castiel a moment longer before speaking.

“If anyone can find trouble, its tweedledee and tweedledum.” Gabriel frowned. “Buuuut, they can usually wriggle out of it too.”

Castiel's smile was brief. “That they do.”

Castiel followed Gabriel into the sea, trench coat floating out behind him as he waded forward. The sun beat down on his back, its heat soaking into the fabric of his coat. A sensation of rightness, of a familiar surety of purpose as he gathered salt. Voices of beach-goers drifted from another end of the beach and Castiel's wings twitched in response to their laughter. With the bright sunshine pouring down on him and the water pruning his fingers, he could almost pretend he was human himself.   
_________________________________________________________________________________  
Dean turned down the lane, traffic dwindling on this street. He left the impala's radio silent as they approached central park as per Kaye's directions. A steely, overcast sky matched the quiet of the street. He parked, in a sparsely populated lot. Ellen's ford rumbled past them with a single honk of the horn. Dean raised his hand before stepping out of the impala. Everyone else followed suit. Luis scanned the park as Dean opened up the secret compartment of his trunk, pulling weapons out and passing them to Sam. 

“Does anyone else want something?” Sam asked. 

Dean frowned at his brother but spoke to the others. “It'd help if everyone iron'd up.” he held up a slim crowbar. 

Kaye flinched back, but then extended a gloved hand. When Sam offered a machete to Luis, he tapped his metal piercings with a wry smile. Corny suddenly flushed, avoiding Luis's gaze as he gestured for the machete. His grin was dark when Sam handed him the blade. The rubber gloves Corny wore cracked as he grasped the handle of the blade. After grabbing a few more items, Dean addressed Luis. 

“Lead the way.”

Luis nodded. “Yeah.”

Luis led them through the park, patches of brambles starting to give way to small bursts of forest. Dean battered aside bare tree branches. Frost crunched underneath their feet as the ground began to slope downward. Mud oozed as the ground evened out into puddles, until they walked to the edges of a man made lake. Sam nudged Dean.

“Isn't this where we went to go to the Seelie court the last time we went?” Sam asked.

“Looks like it.”

“Keep a hold of each other.” Luis said. 

And much like that night, with the moon hung overhead, and illuminated them with ease. The only difference was that it was a colder night. Luis walked into the water until his was up to his waist. Dean watched the young man shiver, arms jittering as he began to recite in Latin. The surface of the water shimmered and began to move around them. Steam rose up around them and Luis called out.

“Now-dunk underwater. Stay close.”

Dean waited until Corny and Kaye dissipated before he ducked his head down into the water, alongside Sam. Frigid water enveloped Dean and he did a full body shudder as he outstretched his limbs and moved in a vague downward direction. His lungs burned and just as soon as he shifted, head breaking the surface of the water. 

Dean rubbed the water away from his eyes. Pleasant heat blew across his face in a lazy breeze. Songbirds chattered, and if he listened harder, he'd detect the faint sounds of laughter from farther away. Trees thick with green leaves filtered out a buttery yellow sun. He stood up. The water was knee deep, inside a simple stone fountain. It was only about three feet wide. Mossy stones kept a circular design that reminded Dean of those intricate Celtic knots on the covers of folk music records. Water bubbled up from the center of the fountain. Dean reached out to the bubbles in center, hand hovering over the water. A dark shape swam up to the surface. 

Sam sputtered back up. Luis, Corny, and Kaye came up in quick succession. Corny pulled off his rubber gloves, dumping the water out of them before putting them back on, their squeaking painfully loud in the relative silence. Kaye pulled sodden clumps of hair away from her face. Luis was already standing, wading out of the fountain. He turned around, extending a hand to Corny, who managed to stand up on his own. Kaye reached for his shoulders, careful not to touch Corny's gloved hands as she steadied herself. 

“Welcome to the forever summer country.” Luis said.

Luis squeezed the excess water from his shirt, water dripping down onto the grass. Grimacing, the light caught his lip ring, like a shimmer of light about his face. Everyone stood up, trying to dry themselves as best they could, getting out of the fountain. The laughter and birdsong didn't cease. Kaye fidgeted. Her eyes darted all around her. Dean frowned.

“What's the matter kid?”

“Don't call me that.” She snapped. “Where's the Queen?” 

“Follow the music.” Sam said. “Worked for me last time.” 

Luis jerked his head. “Then this way.”

Luis led them through the woods. The leaves rustled but nothing revealed itself. Finally arriving at a clearing. Sam and Corny both sucked in a breath. Faeries. They were everywhere.  
____________________________________________________________________  
Isabelle led them into Marble Cemetery, straight to the angel statue that opened the entrance to the Silent City. She frowned in the growing gloom of the darkening skies. Red tagging scrawled all over the angel statue. 'neppy fucks' scrawled across the front of the angel's robes. Its left wing was broken in half, the stumps craggy and someone had thrown something brown and foul smelling onto the base of the wings. In it's hands, the cup's rim was now jagged, a near crack in the middle. At the base of the statue trash swirled at the hem of the angel's stone robes. Isabelle's hands shook as she clenched her fists. 

“How dare they?! Who did this?”

Ellen stepped forward, hand outstretched but Isabelle straightened her back. Her hands relaxed and when she turned around back to face them, there was a touch of ice in her gaze.

“I need a knife.”

Ellen nodded, pulling a knife from her boot and handing it to Isabelle. With one smooth slice, Isabelle cut her palm and her blood splashed into the stone bowl. Before she could recite anything, the statue trembled. Scraping echoed throughout the cemetery as the angel moved backwards to reveal a staircase. Simon and Jo looked around the cemetery. They were still alone. When the angel shuddered to a stop, it wobbled in its tracks, revealing a staircase. The angel statue creaked like a door on its rusty hinges. Isabelle scowled, eyes darkening but she said nothing as she handed Ellen back her knife and pulled a witch stone out from her pocket. 

With a jerk of her head, she led them down the staircase. Ellen ushered Jo and Simon in befroe her. Twisting around, she still found no one else but them, and she hurried down the stairs. Their footfalls echoed as the darkness enveloped them. Only the witch stone in Isabelle's hand gave illumination to their surroundings. The stairs evened out and led to a corridor. Simon whistled when the area lit up. 

“Welcome to the Silent City.” Isabelle said. 

“This place is huge.” Simon said. “How we gonna find...what we need?”

“Yeah where do we go?” Jo asked.

Isabelle gave a little hum. “There's a lot of levels to this place, but the necropolis is further down.” 

Isabelle led them past the Speaking Stars, with their sweeping, circular expanse of a room with its raised seats of its auditorium-esque surroundings. The floor was decorated with a design of stars intertwining with one another. Posts of witch light blazed up. When Isabelle got closer to them, the light from the posts grew brighter. It lit up the room, the domed ceiling high above their heads. A design of angels flying overhead decorated the dome. In the far corner of the wall was a long indent where Isabelle knew the Soul Sword used to be. Under the shine of the witch light, the largess of the room shone through. The walls were a kind of off white colors. 

Simon gasped, his voice echoed around them. The gasp bounced against the walls. Ellen touched Jo's shoulder. Mother and daughter exchanged looks of wonderment. Isabelle's head jerked and she cleared her throat, pointing at a tucked away corridor. 

“This way.”

The corridor was so narrow that they had to walk single file. The walls closed in, shoulders brushing against the thick, almost soft quality of the walls. Jo's jacket scraped against the right wall as she stumbled on the new found craggy-ness of the ground. A faint dusting from the walls crumbled onto her jacket. Jo glanced at them and flicked them clear with a quick swipe of her fingers. Together, the four of them into a turn down a spiral staircase. Railing cracked beneath Ellen's fingertips as she tried to put her hands on the bars for balance. 

“The railing-” 

Ellen cut off as the railing snapped in half when Simon put pressure on it. His hands shot back as if burned. Isabelle coiled her whip around her wrist, keeping it moving as she descended. Ellen was the last to step off the stairs. Jo turned around in time to see the stairs wobble. 

The necropolis was vast. The alabaster white of the walls seemed to gleam, despite the faint light. A vaulted ceiling was embedded with witch light stones, pattered in constellations. With just a glance down, there were raised columns of tombs. Row upon row of sarcophagi, each one inscribed in Latin and runes. Isabelle murmured the words of farewell she had been reciting since she was a child. Her fingers hovered over the tombs, jolts of power skittering around her fingertips. Isabelle closed her eyes, letting the little hum settle over her body. Isabelle took in a deep breath from her nose. Once her breathing was even, her shoulders stilled, and her chest was oddly light. Still closing her eyes, she gestured for the others to start. Following her feet, she ducked into an alcove and with one quick turn found herself standing in front of the angel. 

Isabelle gasped, eyes flying open. Her hands going to her chest as a memory flashed through her mind. She had read about this. Back when she and Alec were both small enough to study the same subjects. It was said that in the Silent City was the single largest witch stone, carved into a triptych of the angel Raziel with the mortal instruments. Here it was. 

It was at least thirty feet tall. Raziel stood proud, feet firmly planted on the ground. He wore only a simple robe, yet runes were transcribed onto the hem. Isabelle could imagine that they still radiated power, despite a stone carving depicting a delicate piece of fabric. Raizel himself was well muscled, but not overly so, tendons only standing out where his muscles were straining. He stood on a mirror. Isabelle bent down, fingers hovering over the witch light that mimicked a mirror's surface. A little ripple in the top right corner of the mirror, like a droplet of water was about to hit Raziel's ankle. In each hand he held up an instrument, the cup in his left and the sword on in his right. The cup was almost bowl-like, with its wide rim and thick stem. Maellartach was as magnificent as she remembered. The winged hilt detailed with each individual feather in its place. As for Raziel's wings, they were wide and sweeping. Two wings, each with a slight curl, as though he was unfurling them and about to take flight.

Isabelle's eyes stung and she wiped them with the back of her hands. Her lips trembled the longer she stared. Here it was, in this expansive hall in the quiet gloom, that this statue resided. Isabelle had a vague recollection of hearing that this statue marked where the Silent Brothers had their living quarters. The stone itself was in the center of the hall, brightly shining on its own. Isabelle could see down the corridor for hundreds of feet with no outside assistance. 

Doors were visible, most of them shut with only a few ajar a crack. However, she was rooted to the spot. Isabelle stared into Raziel's eyes. They were wide and calm. Eyelids were a stone sheath, soft looking as they folded above the open eyes to give a piercing gaze. Isabelle trembled, casting her eyes down as she knelt in front of the statue. Fat droplets of tears plopped onto her knees. She did not bother to wipe them away but she stood up. Isabelle stretched out a hand to touch Raziel's face. Her fingers stopped just short of the stone. Isabelle stared at her hand. It was shaking. The longer she looked at it, the harder it shook. It was awash in light and Isabelle snatched her hand back, cradling it to her chest as though burned.

A faint cry. Someone calling her name. Isabelle flinched away from the statue, unable to look at it anymore and went back the way she came.   
____________________________________________________________________  
Clary squinted as the sunny sky was at odds with the chill air. Peering out the window, frost peeking at the corners of the window. Clary turned back to see Bobby at his desk, flipping through the pages. Standing up, Clary grabbed her jacket and stepped out from the side door. The screen door shut behind her with a slight bang. As soon as she hit the outside, she shivered in her jacket. Rubbing her arms to keep the chill at bay, she rubbed them up and down. A cloudless sky. The yard was much more crowded, with cars in various stages of repair. Clary made her way through the smatterings of old car parts as a familiar splash of flame-colored hair caught her gaze. 

Jocelyn was standing beside a red junker, with rust blooming along it's rims. Her back was straight, arms folded together as she scanned the yard. The blue flannel shirt she wore was a size too big for her frame and a pair of faded jeans. Despite the freshly scrubbed look of her skin on clean but borrowed clothes, there were bags under her eyes. As soon as their gazes met, Clary's shivers increased tenfold, but she made a beeline for Jocelyn. 

As soon as she stood next to Jocelyn, the women spoke.

“I wish we wouldn't look at each other like we're strangers.” she said.

“Wow.” Clary cleared her throat. “No ice breaker for you.”

Jocelyn huffed out what could have been a laugh. “No.”

“So...”

“So.”

“What was it that you wanted to talk about?” Clary asked. 

“Everything.” Jocelyn said. 

“That's...that's specific.” At Jocelyn's look, Clary cleared her throat. “Right. Course you do.”

“How long have you known about the shadow world?” Jocelyn asked.

“Not that long.” Clary said, counting on her fingers. “Barely a year I think.”

Jocelyn sucked in a breath. “You...handle this...well.”

Clary laughed, its sharp tinge taking her by surprise. “Well that's good. Wouldn't be much of a shadowhunter if I didn't.”

“Tell me something. Why did you want to have this life?” Jocelyn's voice had a touch of flint to it. “Was it for that boy-”

Clary sucked in a breath. “What makes you say that? What would tell you that I would-” She tried to be discreet when she rubbed at her eyes. “That I would what, throw away a nice normal life, just for a hot guy? I-i-is that what you're trying to say?” she swallowed back bile. “W-w-well, you'd be wrong.” 

Clary glared, willing her lips not to tremble and the sweat to stop sliding down her forehead She sniffed, ignoring her queasy stomach as she kept her gaze firm. Jocelyn straightened further, if that was possible. She stared back at Clary and the moment seemed to last forever, until Jocelyn cricked her shoulders and glanced away. 

Jocelyn eyed her for a moment, then looked away. “What was your favorite subject in school? You did go to school right?”

Clary laughed. “That's what you ask? Wow ya...” At this her mother's expression clouded and Clary added, “Of course I did. You made me. Art. Art is...was my favorite. You're the one who got me loving it in the first place because it's what you used to do. I've still got one of my sketchbooks with me...if you want to see it?”

Clary blinked in surprise at the way Jocelyn's face lit up. Her smile appeared like sunlight breaking in from the clouds and Clary remembered that face from before the whole shadowhunter business. The same smile from seeing her mother finish a painting, or how they could talk about an artist for hours. The same mom who put her hair up in a bun with pencils, with paint splattered overalls, and fell asleep on the couch watching 'antiques roadshow'. A mom who loved the Thai takeout place only a block away. 

'How could this woman have a life of killing and scars? Is this really the same person?' Clary's mouth went dry. 'Will I ever see that mom again?'

Clary nodded. “Sure. I-I mean, I'd like that.” 

A sudden churn in her stomach and Clary gagged. Another jolt of sensation not unlike a flash of lightening was the only warning Ithuriel gave her before they appeared. Clary shouted, something wordless and high. In front of them stood Zachariah and he was flanked by two angels on either side of him. His viper quick smile stretched over his face. 

“Hello ladies. My associates and I would like a word with you all-” 

Bobby's shouted from somewhere inside his house, gunfire following his cursing. A heavy thump-probably a table-gave a heavy echo. Clary flinched. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jocelyn's stance shift. She planted her feet to the ground, unwinding her body as she dropped her arms to her sides. Jocelyn's eyes had become harder somehow, a touch of coldness to them. Clary's stomach dropped. Clary tried to mimic the stance and her stele poked the insides of her back pocket. A bead of sweat pooled in her collarbone. 

“Ithuriel...any ideas?”  
_____________________________________________________  
Dean scowled as the sweet scent of apple blossoms filled the air. He jerked his head, giving a rapid fire succession of sneezing. He paused for a moment before having another wet burst of a sneezing fit. Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“Gesundheit.” Corny said.

Sniffling, Dean nodded. He fingered the handle of his machete. Sam flicked the safety off his gun as Luis led them down to a clearing full of lounging fey. Phookas, sprites, and hob men chattering amongst the the myriad of creatures. Kaye and Corny pressed themselves closer together as Corny held his gloved hands up to his shoulders to avoid touching her. Dean frowned but said nothing. Faeries gaped at them, whispering and chattering as they moved through the clearing. Luis paused, fists clenched as the faeries continued cavorting. Even so, they seemed to press in. 

Hob goblins sat on their haunches, playing a dice game with knuckle bones. Two sprites were in deep conversation. Their wings fluttered, brushing against each other, a faint dusting of colors as they moved. A purple skinned fae with thickly veined wings kept an imp-like creature on a leash, crooning to it as she fed it squirming insects from the palm of her hand. Corny shuddered, a noise of disgust exploding out from his throat. 

Pipes and lutes played within the clearing. The musicians sat on plush pillows as they continued harmonizing. Little clusters of faeries turned their heads at the newcomers' approach. Some went back to their pastimes while others openly stared. 

“Well well well. Just what has fallen into my court.”

Courtiers chattered, voices pitched in happy greetings as the Seelie Queen entered the clearing, a small entourage flanking her. Meliorn was at her right, and his eyes narrowed. He put a hand to the hilt of his sword. He glanced at his queen, taking his eyes off the group as Queen Silarial sauntered forward. Her eyes widened a fraction when she caught sight of Dean and Sam, but then her lips twisted into a smile. Sam shuddered and tightened his grip on the knife hidden in his jacket. Dean's had brushed Sam's jacket before glancing back at Corny and Kaye. The two pressed close together. Corny's gloved hands shaking in the Queen's direction. Kaye stared at the Queen, eyes flattened into hard chips. She was digging her fingers into her skin, as her fists shook. A terrible blanch settled over her skin. Thrums of adrenaline shot through Dean as he gaped at the hatred Kaye leveled at the Queen with her stare. 

However, when she cast her gaze on Kaye, her eyes lit up but her lips did no more than twitch. As she locked gazes with Sam and Dean did she laugh out loud. Faeries made way for Silarial as she set down a few pillows before settling down onto them. She leaned back before propping herself up onto her elbows, thickly stitched pillows cradling her joints. Courtiers scrambled to kneel at her side. Pages jostled each other to bring the Queen platters of fruit and sweet meats. Goblets of wine splashed onto the pages holding the cups. The Queen licked her lips and crooked a slim finger. Blood red nails caught the sunlight ans Sam shivered. 

“Have you come to say another piece on the benefits of friendship?”

Sam barked out a laugh. “Once upon a time, huh?”

“Indeed.” The Queen purred. “Truly, what is it that you want? For I have few uses for you, save as charming distractions.”

“We do tend to be distracting.” Dean said. 

Dean grinned. A quick twist of the mouth, teeth gleamed bright and sharp before hiding behind full lips. The Queen motioned to her left and a page scuttled forward to refill her cup. Red liquid poured down in a small arc. The Queen watched its' flow, speaking up once more.

“I must admit, I find this all passing curious. A changeling, A cursed mortal and another with the sight. A little gathering of hunters who walk with angels. A veritable troupe of humankind. No doubt assembled at the behest of Manhattan's favorite vampire.”

Kaye sucked in a breath.

“I can assure you-” Luis began. 

The Queen cut him off. “How impatient you must be.” She finally looked up to smile at Kaye. “To go through them to speak to me. We have so much to discuss.”

The Queen did a few more quick gestures. Another page scuttled forward with a platter of fruit. This time, courtiers clustered closer around her, helping themselves to the spread as they stared hungrily at their guests. One hob in tattered coattails brought forward a young woman with a shock of tuft-y white hair. When her white dress shone under a shaft of sunlight, she looked like the sliver of a cloud. Led to the Queen, she fidgeted and dropped her gaze as her cheeks turned pink. 

“Ah Ethine.” The Queen smiled. “How you must miss your brother. Tell me, would you like to see him?”

“With all my heart, though I do not know how such a thing is possible.”

“Then I think you shall be pleased.”

More bustling of movement came from behind the Queen, yet she didn't turn around. A weeping willow's curtain of foliage rippled with the sound of footsteps and flutes before finally parting. An entourage of fae surrounded a man on horseback. Thick hooves pressed deep into the green grass as the rider aside the black mare took in his surroundings. Pewter gray hair fell past his shoulders over his dark leather jacket. He gave one solitary nod to the Queen before he turned his gaze to her audience. His eyes widened and Kaye jerked her head back, avoiding his stare. The Queen's eyes darted back and forth between the two. Crossing her ankles back and forth until he broke the stare to look at Ethine. 

“Hello sister.”

“Roiben.” Ethine nodded her head. “Have you finally come back to us?”

Her mouth trembled as Roiben continued to stay silent, gaze boring into her before his lips twitched briefly and then went back to regarding the Queen. Queen Silarial stared back, leaning forward, craning one long neck up to Roiben. He dismounted and at once a flock of pages dashed to his side. A pixie squire tried to take his horse's reins and another offered a cup of wine. He waved them away, keeping a tight grip on his horse's reins. It trotted behind him, tail swishing as he bowed to the Queen. She extended out her hand and with his free hand, he gripped her wrist tight and placed a slow kiss along her knuckles. He made to let go, but Silarial held fast, grabbing his other hand, fingers working at his grip on the reins. Silarial pushed herself up on her pillows, tugging Roiben down to meet her halfway as she kissed him. Roiben tensed, and he placed his hands on Silarial's shoulders. The kiss got deeper as Roiben leaned farther down to crush her into the pillows. Silarial moaned, eyelashes fluttering in thick dusty sweeps as she shut her eyes. Roiben's eyes stayed open, even as Kaye flinched away from the sight. 

The action drew gasps from the crowd. Even Meliorn couldn't tear his gaze away. Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Sam's lips curled back as he turned away to look at his brother. Dean mimed gagging before sobering. He jerked his head in the direction of Roiben and Silarial still entangled together. Sam followed his gaze and twisted his head back to Dean, who patted his pocket. Sam frowned and then after a moment, nodded. Dean's hand snaked into his jacket pocket, fingers sliding beneath the fabric. The familiar click loud to Sam's ears, yet no one else in the clearing reacted. Dean pulled his arm back, slow and sure as he took his hand out of his pocket. Dean's eyes darted around the faeries. Meliorn and his knights still gaping at the scene. 

Sam pulled back a little as Dean straightened his arm, gun glinting for a second before being sheltered in the shade. His finger wrapped around the trigger just as Roiben pulled back from Silarial, lips swollen, a little trail of spit beginning to cling to his mouth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand just as Silarial tossed her head back, eyes fluttering open as Dean took the shot and fired. The bullet hit dead center between her forehead. Silarial's eyes flared wide but she didn't have time to scream before the light dimmed from them. Her body fell back onto her plush pillows, muffling the thump as she hit them. 

“Holy shit!” Corny shouted.

Silence. Faeries gaped, until one page found its voice and screamed. One voice that rose in pitch until it was joined by several and the clearing became a flurry of movement. Meliorn unsheathed his sword with a scream. The fae knights charged forward. Courtiers drew back, running to and fro to get out of the clearing. Sam drew his weapons. Both brothers fired their guns. Roiben's horse reared and plunged. Corny screamed as Meliorn raised a blade up to him. Meliorn bellowed, rushing them like a bull, sword waving high above his head. Dean pulled Luis back behind him. It didn't deter the knight in the slightest.

“Corny!” Kaye shrieked. “Run!”

“Kaye!” Roiben's shouted echoed. 

Roiben grappled for the reins as another knight tried to take his horse from him. Roiben shoulder checked him to the ground and pulled himself up into the saddle. Ethine's shriek was drowned out as another knight pushed her behind him, blades already drawn as his eyes darted around. Meliorn whirled, shoving Corny to the ground, going for Kaye. Luis darted forward, shoving Meliorn. Meliorn thrust his sword downward, aiming for Luis's collarbone. Corny struggled to rip off his rubber gloves, the fabric moving with a clumsy sluicing sound. They fell to the ground with a wet thump as Corny tackled Meliorn to the ground. 

Corny screamed pressing his hands into Meliorn's face. The fae's flesh began to bruise, turning from red to purple, then a hideous green as Meliorn paled. The knight's screams became strangled gurgles as his eyes rolled up in his head, dropping his sword as he fell back onto the ground. His death throes went unnoticed amidst the shrieks of the other courtiers in their haste to get away. Luis looked up at Corny, open mouthed as he scrambled to his feet. He twisted around, helping Kaye to hers. A wave of knights rushed them. Sam and Dean fired their guns simultaneously. Roiben cantered forward, blocking the knights as his horse's flanks smacked into the armored fae. 

“Kaye! We must hurry.” he extended his hand to her. “We must leave.”

“I hear that.” Dean said. 

“Seconded.” Luis eyed Meliorn's corpse. 

“Where's the exit?” Sam shouted.

Kaye shuddered and nodded. Roiben hoisted her up and onto the back of his horse. “Follow me to the exit.” he said. 

Roiben pressed his heels into his horse's side and it took off at a cantor. Dean shouted as he shot at the closest of the knights. Luis yanked on Corny's arm and the two jogged after the horse, Sam and Dean bringing up the rear.   
_______________________________________________________________________  
“Another county within the state with an outbreak of swine flu-”

Clary shut off the TV, scowling as she padded into the kitchen, stomach rumbling. She walked past Bobby on his way to the fridge. In his hand was a beer. He nodded to her.

“Hey kid. I'd offer, but...” He patted his belly. “Need something?”

“Yeah. Have you see my mom?”

He nodded again. “Just took a break from putting up some wards, so she should be out in the yard.”

“Thanks.”

Clary made sure not to slam the screen door behind her as Bobby went back to his books. The chill hit her body, but she ignored the shivery complaints it sent her and weaved around the salvage yard. She spotted a puff of flame, heading closer until she was level to Jocelyn.

“Hey. Did you know there's beer in the fridge?” Clary winced. “N-not that I've had any but I'm sure it's tasty cuz' those hinters sure love their booze.”

Clary stopped when she saw Jocelyn's lips twitch. Her mother Clary inclined her head to Clary, turning a little. 

“I'm sure.”

Silence fell. A thin layer of snow crunched under Clary's shoes as she shuffled from foot to foot. Clary stared ahead of her at the multitude of car parts. Sneaking a peek at Jocelyn, who was stock still. Clary lowered her arms to her side. After a few minutes, it began to snow and Clary finally leaned back against the grill of the rusted Chevy. The thin layer of frost pressed into her jeans, metal squeaking as she slipped. Her legs shot out from out from under her. She yelped and Jocelyn darted forward, hands outstretched. Her hands hovered over Clary's midsection. Clary gripped the sides of the chassis, arms shaking. A little laugh escaped her. She finally focused on her mother's face and her breath caught. Her mother was smiling. There was still the light of concern in her eyes, but there was also a hint of a grin at the corners of her mouth. 

“I-”

Crack. A gunshot echoed across the distance. Any trace of a smile vanished on Jocelyn's face. 

“Get down.” she hissed.

Clary's knees shook in protest, unable to support as she tried to decide whether to sit or stand. A wave of nausea hit and made the dissension for her and she hit the ground with a muted thump. Clary gasped at the sudden cold on her backside but Jocelyn didn't pay her any mind. Her mother cracked down, covered by a van with its passenger door missing and windshield blown out. A gleaming knife in her white knuckled grip. Lines of tension sparked all along her back, whole body taunt and still. Jocelyn's hair cascaded down her back. Droplets of snow scattering with her tresses. Another shot went off. Clary fumbled for her stele. Jocelyn caught the motion.

“Stay here.” she mouthed.

Clary scowled but nodded. A slow crunch of frost over dead grass. Clary peered over her shoulder. On her left was a white man in a black suit and tie striding to the back porch, his black hair gleaming like a crow's wing. In his hand a slim silver blade dangled. Clary sucked in a breath. She gathered up a little puff of snow from the ground. If barely held together but she tossed it all the same. The snowball broke apart once it glanced off of Jocelyn's shoulder. Her mother whipped her head around. 

“Angels.” Clary mouthed. 

Jocelyn nodded as another shot went off. Her eyes hardened and she dashed off behind another car without a word. Clary held up her stele, staring at the slight sheen. After a few shaky tries, Clary sat back on her hunches and moved away from the car to her right. Shoes slipping, she found cover behind on an orange Datsun with its engine removed. Another angel was stalking forward, its blond vessel taller than the other. Clary frowned. If her mother hadn't ran into the black haired angel and the blond, was here, then who was Bobby shooting at?

Clary peered up over the rim of the Datsun. There was no other angel in her sight. The blond swiveled his head and Clary ducked. Heart pounding, shoes crunching closer to her as his suit jacket flapped in a sudden breeze. The Datsun marked itself as the only car in a clearing of a few hundred yards as cover, save for a white utility van on the other side of the lawn. Clary swallowed spit, taking deep breathes through her nose. A brick lay between her feet. She hefted it over her shoulder and without looking behind her, sprinted to the van. She collapsed at its tires, rolling underneath it. Dust settled around her as she forced her chest to settle. Clary whipped her head back and forth, but couldn't see any shoes coming her way.

“How many are there?!” she screamed internally.

Ithuriel sent a wave of calm to her. Clary closed her eyes, a tiny thread hung in her mind's eye. Imaging Ithuriel's wings ghosting over her, she finally evened out her breathing. Together they mapped out Bobby's. Energy hovering all over them. Clary's body hummed in time to the grace pulsating around the property. Clary sensed Ithuriel's frown. 

“Two in the yard, two in the house...another approaches.” Clary shuddered at Ithuriel's next words. “It is Zachariah.”

Hands grabbed her feet, yanking her out of her hiding spot. Clary shrieked. It was the blond one.

“Hiding from an angel.” It chuckled. “Truly amusing.”

'Cas, Zachariah is here.' Clary shivered and sent out a prayer.

He held her up by her ankles. His arm was completely still as Clary thrashed, heaving herself upwards. Touching her stele to her arm, she carved a speed rune onto her flesh. Kicking out, he dropped her with a 'tsk'. Clary sprinted to Bobby's back porch. The screen door slammed behind her. The shot that went off missed her face, hitting the wall just above her head. She gaped up, expecting to see Bobby holding the gun, but-

“Chuck?”

“S-sorry, I'm so sorry-”

“Where's Bobby?”

“Panic room. They've got him cornered.”

“Got any more guns?”

“Nu-uh. Out of bullets too.”

“Great.”  
____________________________________________________________________________

Bobby wheeled back, shotgun in his lap as the two angels advanced on him. Wearing identical suits, the two tanned men held angel blades. Bobby jerked his head upwards, the defiant tilt of his bearded chin plain to see. 

“Give us the sword.”

“You didn't say please.”

The angel on the left actually snarled, darting forward just as Bobby raised his hand above a bloody sigil. A burst of light shot through the room with a sharp screech. The two angels staggered back. The light and sound dimmed to reveal another man in jeans, dark jacket, and a shirt exposing the top half of his chest. In his hand was an angel blade. Both angels stood agog, recovering at the sight of the other angel's smirk.

“Balthazar.” spat the one on the right.

“Sahaquiel. Armisael. How lovely to see you. We should do lunch.”

“Traitor.” the one on the left screamed. 

Balthazar darted out of their grasp and slammed his hand on the sigil. Armisael and Sahaquiel vanished with screams and fluttering wings. Balthazar sniffed. 

“Amateurs.” He stared down at Bobby. “Sigil could use some work but passable.”

“Well gee, I should thank my lucky stars that you just happened to fly by just in the nick of time.”

“Ooooh feisty.”

Balthazar inched closer, but Bobby wheeled at an angle, blocking the little alcove that hid Maellartach. Balthazar tacked Bobby's gaze and rolled his eyes. He held up his palms.  
“Here to help. Honest.”

Bobby stared at him, scowled. He tightened his grip on his gun. 

“Then you can help by clearing the rest out of here.”

Balthazar 'tsk'ed and held up his blade.  
______________________________________________________________________________________

“You know, it'd be far easier if you'd just give me the sword.”

Clary and Chuck whirled around. Zachariah stood in Bobby's kitchen, trailing a finger along the countertop. He brought up his index finger, inspecting the smudge he found. Curling his lip, he wiped the dirt on the inside of his suit jacket. 

“I'm getting really impatient with you-”

Chuck swung the gun like a baseball bat, the butt of the rifle striking the side of Zachariah's temple with a resounding crack. 

“And I'll write you outta the story, you big-”

Zachariah's head swung to the side, the only movement his body made. Slowly, his head turned until it was back where it was. He stared at them. Chuck kept the rifle raised but backed up. 

“Go.” he squeaked at Clary. “Run.

Zachariah flicked his hand like his was brushing lint off his jacket. Clary and Chuck were flung backwards, crashing into the back door. The hinges screamed as they were flung from their proper places. Mesh flew everywhere as the screen door broke in half when Chuck and Clary slammed into it. The door dangled in its entryway, breaking Chuck's fall enough so that he tumbled down the porch steps. Clary's feet skimmed past and she managed to tuck n' roll onto the freezing ground. 

“Run.” she screamed.

Chuck staggered to his feet. Zachariah blew past him, striding to Clary. She screamed again, racing around the corner of Bobby's house. Clary slammed into Jocelyn. Her mother's eyes widened, gripping Clary's shoulders. 

“What are you doing? I told you to hide.”

Zachariah rounded the corner. Clary wrestled out of her grip and shrugged. 

“I lied.”

Jocelyn steered her out of the way. Jocelyn and Zachariah strode forward and met halfway. Blades whirling as they clashed. Zachariah swung high, aiming for the head. Jocelyn ducked low, swiping the midsection and kicking the knees. Zachariah hopped back from the blow, reach long as he took aim. She feinted, feet rolling as she twisted out of reach. Jocelyn brought her blade down in between Zachariah's shoulder blades. He twisted to her with a snarl. Her blade only made a shallow cut. Jocelyn elbowed him in the chin with enough force to cause him to stagger back and drop his angel blade. Zachariah's lips pulled back, the light in his eyes bright and savage. His arms widened as if to embrace Jocelyn, locking her into a hold. She grunted, dropping her blade onto the disturbed soil. 

“Pathetic half-breed.” he rasped. “You and that slut of a daughter.”

Jocelyn's face suffused with color, cheeks puffed as she grunted and thrashed. Her green eyes narrowed to slits. Zachariah laughed. 

“You-”

The sound of flapping wings cut him off. His eyes widened as he gaped at the sudden arrival of Cas and Gabriel. Zachariah's grip on Jocelyn slackened and she wriggled out of his grasp. He pointed at Gabriel, finger shaking. Jocelyn dropping to the ground, snatching up Zachariah's felled angel blade. She pirouetted, thrusting the blade upwards in the jaw. Zachariah screamed, shaft of the sword visible in between his teeth and the sharp tip protruding from his skull. 

Zachariah's eyes glowed, light enveloping his body as he continued to scream. Jocelyn darted back, arm raised against her face. His screams transcended into high pitch frequency whines, breaking the nearest windows. It ended as quickly as it came and when Jocelyn lowered her arm, Zachariah was splayed onto the ground, an outline of charcoal black wings etched into the frost. Jocelyn sniffed and turned back to the other two angels. 

“Did you get what we need?”  
_________________________________________________________________________________

Simon's phone rang. He looked down at it, the screen giving a little glow to his face in the Manhattan night air. The female warriors surrounded him as they walked through the cemetery. He ignored the smell of old death, focusing on the hum of the cars close by, the scuttling of rodents, and the heartbeats of his friends. Ellen and Jo flanked Isabelle in the center. Its eldest, Ellen kept quiet, gun lowered to her side with her fingers off the trigger. Isabelle's face was pale and taunt, brows in a tight crease. Lines burrowed into the corners of her mouth as she stared straight ahead. She adjusted the duffle bag carrying the nephilim remains without loosing the grip on her whip. Simon's phone jangled again. Jo and Isabelle exchanged looks. 

“Is now really the best time?” Isabelle asked.

Simon glanced up. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I promised Clary that I'd bring you back with us even if I have to drag you away from your little charity project.”

Simon frowned. “Its not a charity project-”

His phone cut him off with a shrill ring. Simon ducked his head down and he stared at the screen once again. Lenore. Simon clicked on the talk button. He nodded his head at the women. They began to pick up the pace. 

“Hey. Um, I'm kinda busy-”

Lenore cut him off. “Make time. Camille is coming to you.”

“What?” Simon's voice rose.

Ellen, Jo, and Isabelle glanced back at him with wary eyes. Simon turned on speaker phone. The slight rush of wind didn't drown out Lenore's voice.

“I said Camille is coming to you. She's been following you.”

Simon sighed. “I can see that.”

The wind blew again this time and Simon didn't need the scent to tell him that Camille was standing right in front of him. All three women raised their weapons. Camille smirked, cheeks dimpling. Isabelle scowled and raised her whip higher. Two more figures emerged and then Camille was flanked by Lenore and Kyle. Both of them flinched back as Camille raised a finger, shaking it. Ellen put her own finger on the trigger. Simon held up his hands, walking in between the vampress and the hunters.

“I do hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Camille crooned.

“Not at all.” Simon forced out. “Something wrong?”

She gave a little laugh. “I couldn't help but overhear that you are leaving us-”

“You won't stop us.” Isabelle said. 

“I'll be looking forward to that. As it stands, this clan is just beginning to become strong again.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

Simon smiled. “Since I'll be gone, I'll trust that everything will go smoothly.”

“There shall be nothing for you to worry over.”

“Good. Then you can tell me where Alec and Magnus are.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Simon said. “Where are they?”

“What? My brothers' alive?” Isabelle shouted. “Why do you know that. What did you do to him?!”

Isabelle's whip snaked up, ready to fly at a moment's notice. Jo and Ellen stepped closer, each standing to a side of Camille's. The vampire merely flashed her teeth.

“Calm yourself.” she said. “I merely know the location. Which, I have kept to myself, for their safety I might add.”

Isabelle jutted her chin forward, whip flicking back and forth. “Thanks for that. So where are they?”

Camille laughed.

“Answer me!”

“As you wish. They reside in London. A safe house. I shall tell them you asked for them.”

“And sent for them.” Simon snapped. “Tell them to come to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”

“Very well. I shall await your next command.” Camille gave a shallow bob of her head. “Shall I dispatch with the fae that are pursuing your companions as we speak?”

Simon's face froze. “Yes.”

Camille's face tightened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over. “At once. Happy to be of service.”

Camille turned on her heel. Kyle and Lenore went to Simon's side. They wore similar frowns on their faces. 

“Keep an eye on her.” Simon said.

Kyle nodded as Lenore kept her gaze fixed on Simon's face.

“Keep in touch.”

“I promise.”

Lenore nodded once more before following Kyle and Camille through the cemetery back where Simon and the others came. They were alone once more. Ellen kept her gun raised.

“We need to hurry.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________  
Dean fired yet another shot as every faerie knight of the Seelie Court pursued them. Sam had run out of bullets and resorted to using the long, slim iron bar, swinging it with abandon. One particular swing struck a knight in the jaw, who stumbled back, his flesh sizzling.

“Talathain!”

Talathain rose up but Corny leapt forward, palms splayed in a parody of jazz hands. Talathain stumbled right into the outstretched limbs. His scream spiraled up into the night sky and he fell back, finally still. Corny bumped into Luis, nearly collapsing them both. Kaye pried them up, gasping as they were rushed by five knights. Before Roiben could move, a blur of white and blonde shot through the knights. A statuesque woman in a red dress slashed at her opponents. Inhuman cries of pain rang out around her as her teeth gleamed underneath a streetlight. Dean raised his gun higher but before he could shoot, two more figures emerged. A young man and women. The man's skin rippled and puckered as he dropped on all fours, fur sprouting all over his body. The wolf howled, barreling towards a cluster of a fae, who scattered. A couple of hobmen climbed up a tree, throwing down branches.

“Is that-” Sam started.

“Lenore?!” Dean shouted.

The young brunette woman loped over to them, snapping the neck of a fae that got too close. She gave Dean a tiny smile.

“Small world.”

“I'll say. How have you been?”

“Been better.” She kicked at a stray fae. “Simon sent us. He'll explain the rest.”

“Works for me.”

From there, they slowly made their way back to they impala. Camille was a whirlwind of destruction, pulling apart with bare hands. Hair flying as she dispatched opponent after opponent, broad smile threatening to crack her face in half. 

“The Unseelie King sends his regards!”

Dean shuddered as another faerie went flying, slamming to a halt against an iron fence. His death throes were brief and the car was in sight. As were Simon, Ellen, Jo, and Isabelle. 

“Go go go go.” Sam shouted.

Sam covered them as Dean ushered everyone inside the impala. The door slammed shut, missing Kaye's boots by inches. Camille dodged the screeching tires peeling out of the parking space. She twisted, leaping up and slammed her fist down on one of the few fae left. Dean watched the fight get smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror.   
____________________________________________________________________________________  
There in the deserted parking lot of a no-tell-motel, Jace's breath ghosted upwards to be illuminated under a florescent street lamp. Tessa stood beside him, eyes searching his face and he kept his back straight under the scrutiny. 

“I'll be fine.” He said. 

“I know.” She said. “I'm aware, I just need to be sure you understand-”

“For the last time yes. Yes, you're a reaper with a grand and solemn duty to uphold the balance of universe and cannot spend all your free time babysitting the likes of me.”

Tessa gave a small little huff. “Your words not mine.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

Jace's lips twisted into a small smile. “Go on, get out of here. We both know you'll be back sooner or later.”

“Stay out of trouble.”

Jace just laughed. He watched her stride through the empty lot and disappear into the brambles and dead leaves. A part of his chest got heavier with each step she took. He continued to stare out at the lot long after she had gone. Jace swallowed heavily in his throat as he absorbed his surroundings in his mind's eye. The motel was the only thing there for miles. He was surrounded by highway and fields as far as his eye could see. 

A harvest moon, a deep orange glow emitting itself in the night sky as clouds ghosted to and fro, casting half light over Jace' shoes. An imaginary shutter clicked within his mind, preserving the scene for him for all time. Gasping, he took the opposite direction Tessa had taken, crossing the tar on the highway to disappear into the woods, where the dying trees scattered the light. Owls hooted in the distance. Jace's footfalls were obnoxiously loud and in a snide voice that sounded far too much like Sebastian hissed in his mind.

'So much for shadowhunter stealth huh?'

“Shut up!”

Branches above him crackled and shook. Jace trembled, not ceasing even as he found a fallen bough of dead leaves to lie upon. When he woke up, only the tops of the bare trees greeted an overcast sky. Jace unwound himself up, slow and quiet. With no definition of time, he didn't how long he wandered. Quiet as a reaper, his tread brought forth only a muffled thump in the thickening woods. Another whisper of noise ahead of him and he pricked his ears. It continued and he followed it to a clearing.

A deer padded through the branches. Jace stilled and slowed himself down to a crouch to retrieve his boot knife. He stared at the deer-a yearling buck-and the deer stared back. A bead of sweat rolled down Jace's neck. He fingered the handle of his knife as the deer pawed at the ground. Jace, still bent forward, wobbled. A twig snapped as he threw his knife. It lodged itself into the tree trunk next to the deer, which bounded back whence it came. The clearing was once again clear. 

Jace strode froward, uncaring of the gunshot-echos' is feet were making as he struggled to rip the knife from the black bark. Little chunks of wood hit his face. Jace shouted, punching the tree. He ignored the sudden burn that came from his knuckles as he hit the tree over and over again, red splashes of blood widening all over the bark. At the sight of it, he went into a frenzy-hitting, kicking, and slashing at the tree with his knife. Jace screamed, spittle and profanity flying out of his mouth. His words dissolved, lessening into one long cry as he sunk to the ground. Panting, hair in disarray as he curled into a ball. He only stood up and righted his balance to find the highway again.

He wasn't sure how long he wandered but he emerged from the wilderness of the roads. A moon was dim behind the clouds. A truck stop beckoned with with its florescent lights acting as a beacon to any weary traveler. Jace was no exception, heels heavy as as he went past gas pumps, and to stare into the windows of a greasy diner with the single word 'food' in bold letters. Inside a few patrons occupied stools or booths. Tables littered with cups of coffee and plates of sandwiches. A waitress with heavy bags under her eyes bused the empty tables as the cashier fiddled with basket of mints in front of him. Jace caught a glimpse of the cook pouring grease into a frying pan. The customers filling in their seats, hunching or slouching as they paid attention to their food.

Glass windows had seen better days, fogging at the corners where grime hadn't found refuge. Jace stopped short just at the door. His hand outstretched, but no one inside glanced in his direction. Jace dropped his hand. The longer he stood there, the more the window seemed to warp. As though he could he could see nothing from within the diner and he was staring at some point in nothingness. It was just him staring though he could not see. He sucked in a breath and the world suddenly came back into focus, reflection glaring back of him. Gold eyes brittle and bright. Clothes filthy, with leaves and mud, hair matted, blood on his knuckles. Like a drifter-like a mundane.

He bolted, taking refuge under a street lamp, where he panted, putting his hands on his knees. Under the light, his scars were just faint lines; hard to see even by his eyes. Jace waited for his heart to settle and his hands to still. A horn gave a little honk. Jace jumped. He couldn't reach his knife in time but he spun around all the same. A grizzled man in a peter-bilt rig pulled up to him. Said man poked his head out from the drivers' side. He had thick graying side burns and a bushy beard. A john deer cap fitted snugly on his head. His voice was pure gravel. 

“Need a lift?”

Jace stared for a moment and it was long enough for the driver to shake his head. “Sorry to ask.” His head retreated back into the shadows of the cab, only one side of his face still visible.

“No! Wait.” Jace said. “Yes. Yes please. Yes, I'll take a ride.”

The driver's head emerged back out and he leaned forward to open the passenger door. Jace darted forward and scrambled inside. Jace clicked on his seatbelt.

“Where to?”

Jace sighed. “Anywhere.”  
________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	24. Racing to gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either series-this is entertainment for ya'll.   
> Warnings: Violence, in-universe slut shaming, and language.   
> Word Count: 9,756  
> AN: Thanks to all the people who put this on their bookmarks and watch lists, kudos, and reviews. You guys make my day. Hope ya'll enjoy this one too.

The impala turned down the gravel road to the Singer Salvage Yard. Simon peered out the window. A two story house looming closer as Dean pulled up to the lengthy porch a few yards from the numerous lots of cars. Simon paid no attention to them. Clary stood on the porch, hands by her sides as she stared into the impala. Dean barely put the car into park before Simon scrambled out of the backseat, door swinging open. Dean screeched to a halt as Simon sprang onto the porch and embraced Clary. 

Her breath forced out of her in one great gust as she wrapped her arms around him. Clary nuzzled into Simon's neck as he rested his cheek on top of her head. Sam, Dean, Isabelle, Jo, and Ellen exited at a slower pace. Simon and Clary were still embracing by the time the five got there. Simon pulled back. He smiled.

“You cut your hair.”

“Yeah surprise.”

Isabelle squeezed Clary's shoulder as she went past and walked into the house. Ellen and Jo smiled, modding at Simon. Ellen even ruffled his hair. Sam and Dean gave brief, wan smiles. Clary returned it, smile just a bit wider. Clary pulled back from Simon, gaze searching Simon's. He didn't try to smile or school his features before her. Keeping his hands on her shoulder, he let his frame relax under her scrutiny. Simon stared back at her. Her skin the color of peaches and a hearty pink flush across her cheeks. She seemed to vibrate with tension, energy in every inhale and exhale. Her lips trembled as she tilted her head forward, so that she could look up from her thick eyelashes. Clary bowed her head. Simon didn't move, just waited. The noises from within the house faded from their ears as Simon and Clary finally looked back up at each other. Clary gave a little laugh. 

“Come inside and meet Bobby.”

Clary led Simon inside. The foyer was still cluttered boots, jackets, and hats. Off white walls that chipped in places, mostly in the corners. It led back to the connected living room and kitchen. Both rooms were crowded, with only one face that Simon didn't recognize but was quickly introduced to Gabriel. The room's conversation slowed but didn't quite stop when the two entered the room. Simon raised a hand.

“Hey guys.”

Bobby nodded. “Good to know you.” he said.

Bobby side-eyed him as Simon came closer but didn't comment. Simon felt all eyes on him and straightened his back. 

“So what's the plan?”  
________________________________________________________________________________  
Alec and Magnus arrived about two days later on a rainy afternoon. Bobby welcomed them in after drinking a shot of holy water and holding iron and silver in each hand. When the two of them finally moved passed the foyer. Alec's eyes lit up and all the tiredness was gone from his face as he stared at his sister. Isabelle only looked into Alec's face for a minute before bursting into tears and embracing him. Magnus stood off to the side as everyone kept silent until the two pulled apart. 

They all gathered in close in Bobby's study. Bobby scowled as people pulled chairs in from the kitchen. Bobby was parked behind his desk and poured himself a drink. He still raised an eyebrow when Magnus walked past him but offered him a glass of whiskey as Magnus told the rest of group what he and Alec endured. Likewise the two were brought up to speed.

“So what now?” Simon asked

“About that.” Bobby said.

Bobby leaned over and turned the volume on his TV set. A newscaster stood in front of a building, the granite plaque behind him read 'Nevius Pharmaceuticals' etched deep into its surface. His gray suit was a little rumpled but his smile was one of relief. 

“Today Nevius Pharmaceuticals announced that in collusion with the CDC that they have passed the trial stages of the new vaccine, Niveus 432. The vaccine will be distributed within the weekend and will hit the shelves on Monday. Not a moment too soon says the-”

Bobby muted the set. 

“They been playin' that for the last two hours or so. Caught the rest of it then. Trucks headin' for CDC centers all over the country but there's only one Nevius Pharmaceuticals in the whole damn country.” he said.

Magnus 'hmmm'd' in his throat as Alec suddenly slapped a hand to his thigh.

“Right. I knew that was familiar.” when he noticed everyone's attention was focused on him, he continued. “We took a plane to get here and two men sitting next to us worked at that Nevius and just kept going on about it.” Alec said.

“Well that's a nice little coincidence.” Bobby said.

“Isn't it.” Magnus replied. 

“As I was saying,” Alec cut in. “Apparently they worked at different divisions but kept each other informed. The first man was within the scientific or medical division.” He waved a hand. “I can't remember what he said, the point is, he was with the doctors who did the trial studies and he explained how rushed the new vaccine is, just how difficult to synthesize it and such like. The second man was with the...transportation? Anyway, he kept droning about how difficult it was to schedule all the routes for the distribution on such short notice-”

“So?” Isabelle said. “What does this have to do with...”she trailed off.

“Pestilence.” Dean said. “He said something about croatoan.”

“Sam paled as Cas's expression darkened. 

“You think that's what this is about?” Sam asked. “Get people sick enough to cause a panic and then promise a cure that's actually an even deadlier disease?” He clicked his tongue, voice icy. “Clever.”

“You mean monstrous.” Jocelyn said.

“So what do we do about it?” Clary asked. “Pestilence was tough enough; how are we supposed to stop nationwide distribution of a what, a croatoan virus?”

“Maybe...” Alec spoke up before tapering off. “Maybe we can..I got it. If I'm right, we can just go with attracting attention to ourselves but if we're right...then I've got a plan.”  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________  
He could hear them in the dark of his room. Hush voices coming through from the wall.

“I'm not saying he doesn't deserve help, but why us?”

“Molly, he has no one else.”

“Think I don't know that? That I can't see it in his face every time I look at him? He screams in his sleep and knows how to hold a knife. We have no idea where he's been. I'm just saying, he's been here for a week and I still don't have an answer for the kids.”

“Give it time. I promise it will get better.”

“I hope so, now come on, gotta get started..”

Jace rolled over and closed his eyes. Someone shook Jace out of his nightmares. He rubbed his eyes but the figure didn't dissipate. Jace tensed but didn't move. The face that peered down at him with a soft frown on that grizzled face.

“Rise and shine.” he said.

“Sal?” Jace cleared his throat. “Sal.”

“Molly's got breakfast downstairs.”

“Ok.”

Sal nodded and left. The thick curtains kept out any burgeoning light. Jace rubbed his eyes and lay in the dark. The vague heaviness in his chest didn't dissipate as he got out of bed, got ready, and went downstairs. Sal Brookeridge and his family lived in a two story, three bedroom house in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. Jace plodded down the stairs, fingers hovering over the wooden banister. 

They were what Jace assumed to be a typical mundane family. Hardworking, unassuming, and kind of dull. Not that they weren't kind. In fact that shocked him, almost as much as it shocked him that Sal had a few shotguns in his house. Sal assured him it him it was quite normal. Molly, the wife, baked brownies for her church group. Three children. One boy who played soccer and loved comics. His sister was growing out of dolls and into boys. The oldest was away at college. 

Jace entered the kitchen to Molly ladling out bacon and eggs onto her family's plates. Molly turned to see him and gave a polite smile. The daughter, Sandra followed her mother's gaze to stare at Jace. Her smile was much wider and her cheeks turned red. 

“Good morning Jace.” she scrambled up out of her seat. “I'll get you a plate.”

Her brother Billy sniggered and Sandra took a swipe at him with a free hand, ignoring the look her mother gave her. Sandra glanced up at Jace before darting her eyes away. 

“Sit down.” she said.

Jace obeyed, blinking down at the suddenly laden plate thrust before him. Billy stared at Jace with a rude fascination, ignoring his own plate in favor of watching Jace clear his. 

“Billy.” Molly said, frowning.

Billy made a face and concentrated on his food. Sandra scooted her chair closer to Jace. She pushed her eggs around her plate, taking delicate bites of breakfast in between glancing at Jace and her plate. Sal made himself a cup of coffee, taking a deep swallow. He leaned on the counter and nudged Molly's shoulder as she scuttled about. Molly held up a spatula, turned at an angle as she spoke. 

“Where are you headed again?” she asked.

“New Orleans. It'll be a straight run through.”

“Rig good to go?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“What do you want for dinner?”

He laughed. “You know me. Just grateful you're feeding me.”

“True enough. Kids, wash up when you're done.”

Billy and Sandra groaned. 

“I can do that.” Jace said. 

Billy rolled his eyes as Sandra perked up. Molly hesitated.

“Oh no, I couldn't let you do that. They need to learn responsibility.” she said.

Jace dropped his gaze. “I understand.”

“Mom-” Sandra glared at her mother.

“Get ready. Go one now.”

Sandra shot her mother another glare as she put her dishes in the sink. Billy followed suit with a grumble. Molly too, spared another glance at Jace before leaving the kitchen to just Jace and Sal. Sal raised an eyebrow at Jace from over the rim of his coffee mug. After a moment he set it down with a small thunk. 

“Well time to get crackin'.”

Jace began his day too. He put his dishes in the sink, washing, drying, and putting them back in their proper place before he left the kitchen. He strode to the front door, crossing Sal and Molly embracing in the living room.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” he said. 

Both blinked back at him. 

“Wait, I don't understand.” Molly said. “You're leaving?”

Jace nodded. Sal walked over to him.

“Stay a bit longer son, we can work this out.” 

Jace shuffled his feet. “Look, I know I'm an imposition-” Jace began.

“Yes you are.” Molly said. “But that don't mean we can't lighten the load. I know that you won't give us details but since my family hasn't come to harm, I know it'll be alright.”

Sal beamed, putting a hand on Molly's and Jace's respective shoulders. 

“See, I knew this could work out.” he said. 

Jace nodded. “Which brings me to my next point. After all you've done for me, I can't refuse to do nothing for you.” He looked at Sal directly. “...Let me work for you. I can work off my debt for however long you deem necessary. I have many skills that would be invaluable to you-”

Sal held up a hand. “Woah woah, slow down. I have no doubt you are but there's a process these things.” he paused, frowning for a moment. He raised a finger in the air. “Tell you what, you come with me. Have a, what do you call it, a test run and if it goes well we can talk to my supervisor.”

Jace nodded his head. “That'll work. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” Sal grunted. “Now, ready to go?”

“Yes I think I am.”  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Does everyone have everything?” Clary asked.

Clary clutched her walkie-talkie, standing beside Bobby as Sam, Dean, Ellen, and Jocelyn loaded up Clary's replacement truck and Bobby's utility van. Magnus was enchanting whatever weapons Jo handed to him as Simon held up a medical bag. He pushed it into Cas's arms, who looked non-plussed at what he was now holding. Gabriel stood off to the sides and watched. 

Bobby frowned. “Depends. Do you have the right frequency on that one?”

“Ummm I think so?”

“Give it here.”

Clary handed it over to Bobby and he flipped the small radio over in his hands. His thick fingers twisted the nob on the top of the radio. He looked at the back of it and opened a small plate of it. 

“Helps when you've got batteries.” he grunted. “Hang on.”

He wheeled himself back inside and returned a few minutes later, handing it back to Clary. 

“Channel one in case you forgot. Here are some spares.” He put more batteries in her hand. “That should be everything.” He faced the group with a scowl. 

“Not quite.” Gabriel spoke up.

“Pardon?” Bobby turned to glower at Gabriel.

Gabriel cleared his throat and spoke in a louder than necessary voice. “I said, since some people here can't even use a your silly little radio right, we gotta pack one more thing.”

Before anyone could reply, Gabriel snapped his fingers. Dean jumped back, glaring at Gabriel. Sam kept wary gaze moving as Isabelle rolled her eyes. Cas frowned.

“What did you do?” he asked.

Gabriel faced Cas. “Wow.” he whistled. “Where's the trust, the love?”

Cas blinked, then looked heavenward for a few minutes before firing Gabriel with a stare. His brother returned the look with a bemused smirk.

“You're welcome.” he said to Bobby, still not looking at him. “Now you can no longer feel useless.”

The whole group stopped, sound and all as Sam and Dean who managed to glare at Gabriel and glance at Bobby, whose own glare turned thunderous. Gabriel was unmoved, except for a quirk of his eyebrow. Bobby said nothing, head bowed. Dean rounded on Gabriel.

“You-”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off with an abrupt yelp as Bobby lunged up from his chair and decked Gabriel in the face. The archangel staggered back, clutching his nose as he looked back at Bobby with wide, delighted eyes. His back thumped against the white utility van as Bobby stood facing him with his fist raised.

“Anything else you'd like to say?” Bobby asked in a tight voice.

Dean stared at Bobby, eyes wide with just a hint of a smile on his lips. “Bobby, your-”

Bobby frowned at him, then his confusion grew on his face as Sam, Clary, and Ellen grinned openly now. Simon glanced back and forth between Gabriel and Bobby. Bobby finally looked down. His eyes widened as Gabriel rubbed his unbroken nose, still blinking rapidly. Sam took one look at his face and burst into laughter. Isabelle rolled her eyes but grinned all the same. Even Cas cracked a smile. Bobby looked back up at Gabriel with an unguarded expression. 

“Thanks.” he breathed.

“Again, welcome.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Ya'll know what to do. Let's get the lead out.”

Bobby strode up to the driver's side of his van and got in. Dean's gaze followed Bobby, staring as the older hunter buckled up. Dean didn't notice the thoughtful stare his brother was giving the archangel as he shouldered a bag.

“You heared the man, let's move.” Dean said, delight clear in his voice. 

Dean hurried to Clary's pick up truck, Cas hot on his heels.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Jace watched from the passenger seat of the peterbilt truck as Sal was waved into a lane by a man with a bright green traffic vest. The docking station ahead was crowded full of trucks as they inched closer along to the manufacturing plant. Sal pulled into the loading dock, guided by another man in a vest. As Sal began to put the truck in park, he spoke into his CB radio, trucker jargon pricking Jace's ears. Sal put the radio down and spoke to Jace.

“Ok, you can start by helping load boxes into the truck while I talk to my supervisor. I'll see what I can do but in the meantime, if you need any direction-” he panted to a dark-skinned bearded man with a bright blue vest and a CB radio attached to his belt. “That's the foreman, he can tell what to do.”

“Alright.”

Sal reversed the truck and parked it. He unlocked his door and got out, Jace just a pace behind him. He watched Sal and the foreman shake hands.

“Hey Mack, how's it going?”

“Going strong, we're making good time.” He jerked his head in Jace's direction. “Who's this?”

“Jace. Doing a favor for my sister. He's helping me out today and if all goes well he have a spot here, what say you?”

The foreman hummed thoughtfully. “We'll see.” he said.

“That's all anyone could ask.” Sal smiled. “Gotta punch in. Play nice ya'll.”

The foreman laughed him off and regarded Jace.

“Jace was it?” At Jace's nod he continued. “Well Jace, you can start by loading up Sal's truck. Anyone asks for you to give them a hand, you do it. Everyone here is your boss, you got that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Let's get to work.”

Then the foreman left Jace at a stack of already packaged boxes. Large white boxes tightly packaged with clear tape. Two block shaped stickers placed on top of each other, reading 'Fragile: handle with care' and 'Niveus 432 TM vaccine.' in thick black letters. When he hefted the first box, the glass rattled inside. It was surprisingly light in his arms. Jack took it to Sal's truck. The back was still closed. Jace set the box down, frowning. The handle of the silver metal door was high above his head, long black strap and yanked the sliding down. The sliding door shuddered open with protesting shrieks until it stopped at the top.

The inside of the door was wider, an eight by ten space. Eight feet wide and ten feet long. Jace pulled down the long, slim ramp out from the bottom of the truck. When it was finally touching the ground, Jace picked up the box and carried it into the truck. He went back and forth, taking teo to three boxes at a time. When he filled the truck up halfway, he took a break. Jace sat on a little spot by the toll booth, back against the metal of the booth, eyes glazing over as his gaze lost focus and lingered on a white utility van. 

“Jace come on back, Jason could use a hand.”

Jace startled and then sighed. “Coming?”

He trotted back inside.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Clary parked her truck down the block across from Bobby and on the other side of the factory. She turned on her two-way radio.

“This is Clary. We're in position. Over.”

She took her finger off the button and waited for the hiss of static to turn to a voice. She didn't have to wait long.

“Message received. Team two is in position. Prepare for operation. Keep position and maintain radio silence. Over.”

“Radio silence?” Clary frowned despite Bobby not being there to see it. His reply was quick.

“Don't be chatty in the middle of an operation and only communicate when necessary. Over.” 

“Oh. Ok then.” She released the button, then quickly pressed it again. “Er...over.”

She twisted her head around to see Dean, Sam, Cas, Simon, and Jocelyn sitting in the truck bed, eyes alerted to her movements. She gave them a thumbs up and everyone moved. Weapons were handed to each other as Clary stepped out of the truck. 

“Everyone rigged up?” Clary asked.

Isabelle was still attaching a walkie-talkie to her waist, but Sam and Simon were already set. Jocelyn eyed hers but began to put it on all the same. Dean put his on the proper channel and patted it. Clary cleared her throat.

“Errr...sound off.”

Dean laughed. “We're all here.”

“I mean state your jobs on this...job.”

Jocelyn gave a brisk nod. “Very well. I, Simon, and Sam are to fight off any demons we may come across. Isabelle, Jo, and Alec are there to plant the explosives. Ellen and Dean distract the foreman and his managers by posing as CDC agents. They will also try to get the civilians out of the building. Cas is to defend the two bases and act as backup driver in case emergency. Magnus will use glamour as a way to ease along any suspicions civilians may have. Gabriel is there to use a barrier to help contain the explosions. Both of them stay closest to the vehicles, and of course Clary and Bobby are the drivers.”

Clary blinked. “Sounds about right.” she said. “So let's get to work.”

Dean adjusted his tie and nodded to Sam. Sam returned it and went to Clary's truck on the passenger side. Dean made a brisk jog across the parking lot. Sam opened up his laptop, booting up a program as Clary spoke into her CB radio.

“This is group two. De-er...W-one is moving into position. W-two beginning procedure.”

“Copy that. H-one is in position. G and M are in position. L-two is ready waiting. L-two has package. Repeat L-two has package. L-one's position? Over.”

Clary turned to Sam. “How about you? You ready?”

He nodded. “We're in.”

Clary smiled. She whipped her head to Isabelle. “You're up.”

Isabelle nodded, a not quite smile on her face, too grim to really be called a smile. Sam addressed Simon.

“It's in the back, in the case.”

“Got. Just one block, right?” Simon asked.

“Yeah.”

Simon hefted the mid sized box onto his lap and opened it. A block of plastic-like substance in his hands. He set it on his lap in slow, deliberate movements. Next he pulled out a slim piece of plastic resembling a joystick. A small, round, and red button on top of it. He gathered them up, both items in each hand and gave them over to Isabelle.

“Here's the C4 you ordered.” he gave a sharp laugh. “Comes free with its own detonator.” 

“It'll be fine.” Isabelle said.

“Sure of course.” Simon nodded his head too fast. “Why wouldn't it be?”

Isabelle gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, she strode off across the parking lot. Clary spoke into her CB radio.

“L-one is on route. W-two and S headed there. C and L on standby over.”

“J's status?”

Clary glanced at Jocelyn, her mother was tucking a knife into her boot.

“Almost ready. Over.” Jocelyn nodded to Clary, who spoke into the receiver again. “Ready. J on route now over.”

Jocelyn gave Clary a long look and opened her mouth to speak-

“Roger that. Over and out.”

Cas stood beside the truck bed. Only himself, Clary and Simon remained. He and Clary exchanged a silent stare until Simon cleared his throat. 

“Guess that's my cue.” he gave her another considering look, small frown on his features. “Be careful, ok?”

“You too.”

Simon jogged to catch up with Sam and Jocelyn. Clary watched him get smaller and smaller until she went back into the truck's cab without another word.

The next chain of events happened in a rapid succession. Sam cut the visual feed on the security cameras just as Jace loaded the last box into Sal's truck. He didn't hear Sam, Simon, and Jocelyn sneak into the back. Nor did he notice Jo, Isabelle, and Alec enter from a different location. The glamour Magnus enacted helped conceal their presence. Gabriel threw up a barrier just as Dean and Ellen met with the foreman. In that moment, in a secluded corner of the factory, Sebastian and Meg perked up.

“That's us.”

“Bout' time.”  
________________________________________________________________  
Ellen and Dean walked down to meet the foreman. He raised a large hand and waved them over.

“You guys the CDC?”

Dean nodded. Ellen and Dean flashed fake badges in unison. “Yeah agents Nash and Stills. We called.”

“Yes. Yes you did.” he shook their hands. “Mack Anderson. Follow me into my office.”

Anderson crooked a finger. Ellen rolled her eyes and Dean caught the look with a nod of assent. They followed Anderson, who held up his lanyard ID card to a guarded toll booth. The attendant pressed a button, opening the gate. Striding inside, Ellen eyes the interior, giving Dean a quick jab in the ribs. He winced and looked at what she had focused on. 

The spacious interior was loaded with boxes being taken by hand or by cart and loaded into trucks. Ellen's eyes widened and Dean looked up at a battered security camera. Anderson took a left and led them into a manger's office. A small desk in the center of the room. File cabinets cluttered along the left and on the right monitors looped along on the security camera footage. The camera's film slipped, frizzing out to grainy gray before returning to normal. Dean smiled. 

“That's what were here for.” Ellen for. “What can you tell us about the shipping?”

Anderson hmmm'd. “Nationwide distribution starting with CDC for the free vaccine shots.”

“Just so we're on the same page, this shipment goes out today?”

“As close as we can make it.” Anderson said. “We'll try to meet your standards.”

“Do that.” Dean said.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Ellen said. 

Anderson gave another little hum. “Well I guess-”

Loud buzzing pervaded the air. A shrill klaxon echoed through the building. Ellen and Dean started, both of them going for their weapons. Anderson's head whipped back and forth before pressing a button on his desk. The door behind them shut with an audible click as Anderson's eyes turned black.  
________________________________________________________________  
Isabelle pressed her pack of C4 onto the pipe, fingers steady as the alarms blared on. She stared at the tiny screen, numbers glaring red in front of her eyes. 

“Alec? Jo?” she called. “We might have a problem.”  
____________________________________________________________________________________________  
Sam's eyes darted back and forth as he ducked away from the workmen hefting boxes or loading them onto lifts. Simon and Jocelyn on either side of him fanning out the perimeter. Aside from the bustle of the workers. It was quiet, even with the admittedly fewer workers around. Echos of shout bounced around the walls. Simon caught Sam's eye and raised an eyebrow. Sam gave a little shrug in response as Jocelyn pressed on. She disappeared from sight. 

A clang from above crashed with a resounding echo. Sam and Simon's heads shot up in time to see Meg and Sebastian standing in the rafters. Meg held a lead pipe in her hands. Workers shouted back and forth in response. 

“Long time no see.” Meg called, voice booming.

“Where's Jocelyn?” Simon shouted. 

“No hello? Rude.”

Sam spoke into his radio. “Groups one and two we're in the right place. Repeat right place.”

Meg jumped down from her perch. Another crash and Jocelyn emerged from a stack of crates on the right. Sebastian right behind her. Another series of clangs as workers in bright mesh vests scrambled behind Sebastian. Three of them, their mouths in permanent snarls, eyes bloodshot to a vicious, irritated red. Feral growls emerged from their throats. Sam paled and Sebastian laughed. 

“How do you like them croats!?” he shouted.

Sam spoke into the receiver again. “Everybody out. Croatoan. Repeat croatoan.” 

Meg and Sebastian lunged for him. Simon shot forward just as Jocelyn threw her radio at Sebastian. It bounced off his shoulder and it clattered on the floor. 

“Jonathan!” Jocelyn's voice boomed. “Your fight is with me.”

His shark smile slowly spread itself over his face. “Yes it is. With you and my sister.”

The infected workers screamed in response, racing out on either side. Simon chased after them as Meg weaved her way to Sam, striking both him and Simon in one blow. Jocelyn's bellows of rage didn't drown out the sudden shrieks of terror now echoing through the warehouse.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Clary gaped at Sam's laptop screen. A small group of workers were racing past, attacking whoever came in their path. Then Sam's voice sparked on the CB radio. 

“Everybody out. Croatoan. Repeat croa-”

Clary gasped, snatching up the laptop, she managed to catch a snatch of Sam, Simon, and Jocelyn fighting against Meg and Sebastian before the camera feed fizzled out and went out.  
“No.”

Clary grabbed her CB radio.

“Mayday mayday. Repeat last transmission-over.”

Cas rapped her door. Clary shrieked and dropped the radio. Just as the response came through, Bobby's voice sharp.

“Croatoan.” he said. “Get out of there.”

Cas yanked Clary's door open. He pointed to the truck's loading docks. A single truck revved to life.

“That truck is leaving.”

Clary fumbled with the radio, groaning at a sudden bout of nausea. 

“A truck is leaving. Repeat a truck is leaving. What do we do? Over.”

A moment's silence and Clary shuddered. Cas gripped his angel blade hard enough for the knuckles to turn white.

“Group two will pursue.”  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
Anderson's eyes went black. Dean pulled his gun and fired. Ellen rattled off on exorcism punctuated by gunshots. Anderson screamed, racing to a power box and punched his fists into the metal and wires. He gave another scream as Latin verse rippled through the air. Twisting hard on the wires, the room suddenly went black. A red emergency light in the corner of the room. A whir of machinery and the sound filled the room.

“No escape.” Anderson rasped.

Anderson stumbled back and threw his head back, expelling black smoke. He fell over, head banging into his desk. Ellen unlocked the door.

“Go go go go.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The first gunshot went off and Jace jumped, dropping the box he was holding. It slammed to the ground, glass breaking with a faint clinking. Dark red stains seeped into the white box. It pooled at his feet. Sal raced over to him.

“I dropped it.” Jace said.

“No time for that now. We've got to go.”

Sal hauled him by the arm and Jacked picked up his pace, helping the older man shove the walkway back up and the sliding door down. Jack dashed to the passenger seat, following Sal's manic pace. He tugged the seat belt into place just as Sal peeled out of the factory. Jace fell back into his seat.

“What's happening?” he asked.

“Terrorists-a mob-I don't know, people pissed about vaccines? Don't know, don't care. All I know is we gotta get outta here. Finish the job.”

“Yeah.”

The truck's tires squealed, scent of rubber overflowing as they swerved out of the building.  
_____________________________________________________________________  
“Here, switch with me.” Jo said.

Jo crouched beside Isabelle as the two stared at the block of C4 wedged in between two bars in the wall. Orange numbers glowed, the image fritzing in and out. The numbers, already barely forming, now moved far quicker than normal.

“I don't know how, but the timer's broke.” Jo said. “Cover me while I try to fix it.”

Isabelle moved aside, switching places with Jo. Isabelle went to Alec, who already had out his bow and nocked an arrow.

“And if it doesn't work?” he asked.

A sudden snarl rent through the darkness. Alec shot in an arrow in its genera; direction. The noise stopped as suddenly as it came. Jo nodded to him in thanks, the red emergency light cast her face into bizarre shadows. 

“Then we'll haul ass out of here. The bomb still has to go out off, even though the timer's broken. Hopefully the detonation still works.”

Isabelle flung her whip into a graceful arc.

“So why don't we just leave now?”

“Without the others?” Jo asked.

“They may have gotten out already.” Isabelle said.

“Either way, hurry up.” Alec said.

Jo looked back at the C4. She frowned. “You guys got set up no problem?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

The Lightwoods' answered in unison. Jo stood up.

“Ok, let's go.”  
________________________________________________________________________  
Simon pushed another worker out the building, watching them sprint away. More workers clustered around Sam, praying and shouting as he shot of couple of infected.

“Sam, get them outta her! We gotta go.” Simon shouted.

“Not yet. There's still more people inside.” Sam said.

“Sam!”

Jocelyn held Sebastian and Meg at bay. The three of them were a whirlwind of fists, blades, and screams. Simon kept his hands splayed. 

“Jocelyn run!” he screamed.

Jocelyn dodged a punch and countered with a kick.

“You run. Take Sam and those workers and run.”

“Not without you. Clary'll kill me.”

“She wants nothing to do with me!” Jocelyn shouted.

Sebastian roared with laughter. “You don't know the half of it.”

Jocelyn gritted her teeth as Meg laughed. Jocelyn gave another wordless cry and rushed Sebastian. Simon tried to intercept but was pushed back by Jocelyn. Simon swung around to see Sam barely dodge three infected and charge past them. 

“Sam!”

“Why am I always stuck with stubborn people?” Simon cried out.

Sam returned with new workers. Meg made for them but Simon darted froward, throwing his shoulder back and punching her face. The demon reeled back and Sam ushered the survivors out. Jocelyn pivoted on her heels and raced beside Sam.  
____________________________________________________________________________________  
Alarms continued to blare as Isabelle led Jo and Alec through a narrow walk about. A rumbling came up from behind them.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jo cried.

“Better hope not.” Alec said.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Clary dry heaved onto the pavement. Police sirens wailed in distance, getting louder. 

“Do you want me to drive?” Cas asked, voice tight.

Before Clary could answer, Isabelle came sprinting out, followed by Sam and Simon. Clary straightened, wiping her her mouth with the back of her hand. Her dizziness didn't abate as the three of them clambered into the truck bed. Clary swayed and Cas steadied her. 

“Go go go.” Isabelle said. “There's another truck-”

Simon yelled as Isabelle pressed her detonator's button. Clary groaned, pulling herself into the driver's seat. 

“Here, let me.” Cas said.

Clary nodded and slipped into the backseat. Cas buckled himself in and pressed down on the CB radio. 

“There is a second truck. There is a second truck. Er...mayday.”

The radio crackled to life. Bobby's voice carried through.

“Two? Where the hell are the-”

Cas pressed the gas pedal just as a white and red peterbilt raced out minutes before a fireball erupted where Isabelle, Jo, and Alec had planted them. The blast broke the windows, glass blowing outwards as plumes of smoke rose up from any opening available. Fire licked at the structure as the ground shook. The truck rocketed forward, shock wave pushing their momentum. Stench of rubber all around them and sweat ran down Clary's neck as she screamed. The second explosion went off.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
“Holy shit!” Sal screamed.

Jace gripped his hands to his seat tighter. In the rear view mirror, he could see the third and final explosion went off. It shook the whole block. Sal banked hard to the left. Sal's knuckles turned white as the steering wheel vibrated. The blue and red peterbilt protested, tilting along the curve of the road. They wobbled along for half a mile as Sal twisted the wheel . The road straightened and the truck balanced out, tires hitting the pavement with a mighty thump. Sal accelerated. Someone behind them lay on their horn. Jace twisted around in his seat to see another truck behind them. A red and white peterbilt with the Nevius Pharmaceuticals logo on the side. Its brights flashed on and off in rapid succession. Sal nodded to himself and took a sharp turn to the left, flicking his brights on and off as he did so.

“What did you do?” Jace asked.

“Told em to follow me.” Sal said. “Got a bit of a short cut.”

“Pass him.” Clary said.

Cas fumbled with the wheel as Clary grabbed for the CB radio. “We're in pursuit of the second truck-” Isabelle was shouting. “Is everyone ok?”

“Aside from being chased by police? Fine. Where's the first truck? Over.”

Clary pressed the button. 

“Its ahead of us.” Sam shouted.

“Is Dean with you?” Cas asked.

Clary waved her hands for silence, dropping the receiver in her lap. Bobby's voice crackled. 

“Repeat transmission over.”

Clary fumbled with his receiver, catching it with both hands. “First truck ahead of us-” Isabelle and Cas pointed in unison. “Its ahead of the second truck. Heading to an overpass, they-” Clary leaned forward. “They're trying to get on the highway. Can you pursue the first one? Over.”

Isabelle poked her head inside the truck via the little window from the back of the cab. 

“Get closer to the second truck. We can stop it.” she said. 

Cas nodded and sped up until they were tailgating. Isabelle leaned out on the far side of the truck bed. She flicked her wrist and her whip swung forward in a high arc. It sailed though the air, dangling past the the hook that kept the peterbilt's sliding door closed. Isabelle recalled the whip with a curse.

“Hold on.”

Isabelle wobbled up to the truck cab again, this time putting her palms flat up on the roof of the truck and hoisting herself up. Once up there, she ducked down and repeated the gesture with her whip. This time it held, making a thin connection between the truck and the peterbilt. The peterbilt sped up and Isabelle tumbled back into the truck bed. She landed on her feet in a crouch. The peterbilt sped up again, tugging Isabelle like a fish on a hook. 

“Izzy.” Simon cried.

Isabelle hit the rear window, hair fanning out as she tried to keep her balance. Simon and Sam darted to her side, arms wrapping around her frame. 

“I'm fine. Drive faster.” Isabelle said.

Cas nodded from inside the truck, engine revving in effort as they sped up the hill leading to an overpass. The truck shot forward just as the peterbilt began to turn. Traffic exploded onto the roads. A Prius behind them when Cas swerved, cutting it off. The Prius lay on the horn as the first truck got farther and farther in between the other cars. 

Screams of metal sang through the air. The peterbilt's back door was creaking open by an inch. Isabelle's eyes widened.

“Pull.” she said.

Simon and Sam braced themselves and pulled Isabelle herself. Her whip strained, twanging in the wind. Simon's lips pulled back and he snarled as he backed up. Sam, who was behind him, grunted, backing up until they were on the other side of the truck bed. Isabelle dangling in front of them, feet skimming the surface. The peterbilt and truck shuddered as one, vibrations coursing through Isabelle's whip as they turned onto the overpass. The three wrenched the whip to them as the pterbilt took the turn too sharply to the left. 

Isabelle screamed, voice drowning out the messy 'pop' only she heard. She swayed, dazed. Simon gripped her hands and her grip tightened on her whip, blood slicking her palms. The tops of her shoes smacked on the truck bed as the peterbilt hit the concrete guard rail at full speed. The sliding door wrenched open just as the front and chassis of the peterbilt crumpled into the concrete, front wheels still spinning as glass blew out of the windows, metal twisting out of shape, and cables flying away from their connections. The back end tipped upwards. 

Isabelle, Simon, and Sam zoomed to the opposite end of the truck, Isabelle leaning halfway out of the truck bed. The sliding door yielded, ripped off a third of the way. Isabelle tugged he whip back as the contents inside the peterbilt tumbled, broke, and spilled onto the pavement. Cars swereved out of the way, fender bending and rear ending each other. 

The three of them gripped the sides of the truck bed just as the weight of the peterbilt became too much for the blockade, buckling with an impressive shatter. Simon took his hands away from the truck bed and slapped them over his his ears. The peterbilt fell off the side of the overpass. It hit the highway below it like a collapsing giant. Screams rose up from the earth shattering impact as cars, motorcycles, vans, and trucks sped up in an effort to get off the roads. Some motorists abandoned their vehicles in an effort to get away. The whirl of helicopter blades overhead beat in tandem with the flashing lights of police and ambulances. 

The momentum carried Clary's truck through traffic, Cas laying on the horn. Isabelle thumped down, knees shaking as she landed on her rear. She swayed, breathing through her nose. Sam scooted over and she flinched as one of his hands hovered above her shoulder. He pressed into it just once and she hissed in pain. Sam winced.

“Yeah, your shoulder is dislocated.”

Isabelle grunted, whip limp around her wrists. 

“We'll patch you up when we get to someplace safer, ok?”

Isabelle nodded. Clary rapped on the rear window, twisting in her seat. She poked her head out.

“Bobby says he can't catch the first truck, the polic are chasing them too close. Says we gotta split up to shake em.”

Sam nodded. “Then turn here.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Jesus Christ!” Sal shouted. “Did you see that?”

Jace sighed. “What now?”

“We keep going.”

They drove for six hours, stopping for gas only twice. The moon was on the rise when they finally got to their destination. The CDC center adjacent to the hospital loomed. Sal finally slowed, taking a turn on the left and entered the semi zone. Flood lights drowned out the darkness, casting deep shadows hundreds of feet away as they illuminated the ambulance bay and the emergency red cross tents. Men and women in pastel colored scrubs and sneakers. They began waving Sal to the red cross tent where he parked. At once, they were swamped, with Sal getting out and being met with a flurry of nursing staff. 

“We saw the news-”

“-You alright?”

Sal nodded and waved his hands. A trio wearing white coats, two men and a woman jogged over. The woman wore slim glasses that glinted in the floodlights but she still shook Sal's hand. 

“Dr. Rachel Mendez. We heard about what happened. You're very lucky to be alive. Thank you for bringing the vaccine to us, you'll have saved many lives. I'll make sure you two get your shots for you trouble.”

Sal shrugged. “Just trying to get the job done.”

“It's a good thing you two did.” Dr. Mendez cleared her throat. “The nurses and the red cross people will help you unload your truck.”

“Much obliged.” Sal said.

Red cross workers and nurses carted boxes into the CDC. A few boxes were taken to the red cross tent, unpackaged, and then prepared. Sal and Jace made their way to the red cross tent across from the peterbilt. Sal smiled down at the young man sitting in a folding chair behind at table covered in plastic. The young man's skin gave off a healthy glow, even under the floodlights. Even his eyes sparkled.

“Come for your shot?”

“Yes sir.” Sal smiled.

The young man smiled back. “We'll get started right away.” He turned to Jace. “And you, sir?”

Jace shook his head. “I don't like needles.”

The young man shrugged, smile slipping. “I feel ya.” he turned back to Sal. “Just sit down. It'll only take a minute.”

“Alright.”

Sal sat down onto a metal folding chair and looked around. Another red cross worker tied off his arm and rubbed a damp cotton swab in the crook of his arm. The needle of the syringe was long, the fluid its vial a dark red. The needle expelling air bubbles and then the push of the plunger injecting venom inside Sal. Sal's eyes widening under the florescent lights. He went pale and his hands clenched. After a few minutes his body relaxed. Sal smiled up at the red cross worker. She beamed back at him. She kept her expression as she rounded on Jace. 

“Are you sure you don't want one?”

“I'm fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sal stood up and wobbled. He was steadied by two red cross workers but soon moved unassisted. He gave them another quick grin and waved. 

“Thanks for that, guys but if you don't mind, I have to get back to my family.”

They laughed, waving him off. Jace slunked to to the peterbilt and buckled himself in. Sal came in a few minutes later, buckling up, chuckling to himself.

“Sweet people.”

Jace hmm'd and stayed quiet for the rest of the drive. Jace stared at snatches of scenery seen from under the streetlamps they past. Hey eventually turned onto a hushed little street and parked in a wide gravel driveway. As soon as Sal got out of the truck and stepped onto the walkway, the porch light went on. Molly slammed open the door, shout at Sal as she ran to him. Billy and Sandra poked out from the doorway.

“Are you alright? We saw the news! Who were those crazy people?” she wrapped her arms around him, thumping his back with her fists. “Damn you! Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

Sal rubbed her back. “Sorry bout that but it's all over now.”

They stayed that way a moment longer. Molly pulled back and looked Sal in the eyes.

“Yes it is.” She noticed Jace standing off by himself and cleared her throat. “Jace, come in now. I've just made dinner.”

Jace quirked his lip. “Yum.”

Molly led them back inside and Sal ruffled his children's hair as he passed them. Billy made a face and Sandra blushed when Jace passed by. The dinner table was already laid out, set for five. Jace was the last to sit at the table, in the middle of the right hand side, in between Sandra and Billy. Billy made a move to serve himself and Molly slapped his hand away.

“Shall we say grace?” Sal said.

Jace joined hands with the Brookeridges. Sandra gripped his hand tight as Billy did the opposite. Sal's voice didn't waver as he prayed.

“We thank you Lord for this bounty we have received. Bless this food oh Lord and keep us safe in Your loving care as we remain your loyal servants. Amen.”

They all unclasped hands and loaded their plates up with food. Everyone began speaking at once, and when they finally finished, Jace helped with the washing up. This time, he went up to bed when everyone else did.  
_______________________________________________________________________  
“So you didn't run into trouble on your way here?”

“Surprisingly not. Bobby's freaky good at dodging cops.”

Clary laughed but quickly sobered. Simon put his hands on her shoulders. Even from the half light of a street lamp partially obscured by an overpass, Simon still saw Clary's face.

“Clary, I'm ok. Really. We've been in rougher messes before, right?”

Clary gave another mirthless laugh and Simon shivered. He tilted his head as Clary glanced off in the direction of the others. The two groups reunited halfway back to South Dakota as the night fell. Dean and Bobby were talking in low voices as Sam held up a beat up duffle bag. Cas repacked the truck while Jo and Isabelle exchanged knives. Ellen watched them with a smile on her face as Jocelyn kept her distance. Magnus was holding Alec's arm, soft blue sparks crackling over Alec's limb. The two were staring only at each other as Gabriel rolled his eyes in their direction. 

Clary looked back at Simon, suddenly pale and frowning. She seemed about to collapse. Simon put a hand on her forehead. Tears pricked at Clary's eyes. 

“What-”

Clary took Simon's hand away from her forehead and placed it on top of her belly. Simon frowned, brows knitted for a few minutes until his eyes widened to comical proportions and Clary laughed. Simon didn't take his hand away as he continued to gape at her.

“A-are you-” he cut himself off. “H-how?”

“Oh, you know, the usual way.” Clary said with a smile.

Simon put on a fake grimace. “On second thought...” the fake-ness of his grimace morphed into a more genuine expression. “What do you need me to do? I mean, are you happy about this, is this what you want?” he babbled.

Clary looked away, eyes downcast as she pursed her lips in thought. Her eyes glazed over and she bit her lip. Simon watched every expression flit over her face and when her eyes hardened, he felt a ripple go over him. She finally looked back up at him.

“I want you to be godfather.”

“What?” Simon choked. “I mean, I'm honored. That's like, so amazing, but are you sure you want me?”

Clary blinked. “Why wouldn't I?”

“B-because.” Simon stammered. “Well, it's cuz', I'm just..just Simon.” he finished.

“Oh.” Clary breathed. “You're perfect. I can't imagine anyone else.”

Simon cleared his throat. “B-but what about your mom?”

Clary sucked in a breath. “Np. I mean,” Clary shook her head and continued. “She barely remembers who I am and she keeps talking about it and I just-just can't anymore.” she shot him a pleading look. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” Clary's gaze bored into him. “Then there is something you gotta do for me. I've given this a lot of thought and you should too because it's gonna be hard-”

“I'll do it. Anything for you two.”

Clary held up a hand. “Hear it all first. You need to know it all.” she took a breath. “I can make new runes. Ya, I know right? So I've been trying to do some...and I did.” she paused, eyes flicking up and down, finally meeting his gaze. “One for you and you will not want it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will mean that you'll be alone.”

Simon's lips twitched, shivering. “One day, I already will be.” shudders racked his frame until he hugged his body to keep it still. “So tell me how this works.”

“Fine. It will keep you safe. Any who tries to physically harm you will get it rebounded onto them seven fold.”

“Why won't I like that?” Simon asked.

Clary put a hand to her stomach. “It'll be lonely.”

“You don't know that.” Simon cleared his throat. “So let's do it.”

“...Ok.”

Clary took out her stele. Simon stilled as Clary brushed his bangs back, exposing his forehead. His whole body relaxed at first contact of the tip of Clary's stele. Clary's hand was steady, pressing into Simon's flesh. He closed his eyes. He pictured the ocean, walking along the shore, alone and yet not. Simon burned, senses tracing the edges of the stele's movements, trying to pick out a word. He shivered.

“Ok.”

Simon opened his eyes. He looked up to Clary's face. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. She was still holding his bangs back.

“I call it the wanderer.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________  
The floorboards creaked and Jace's eyes shot open. He peered into the darkness, squinting at the shape that stared up at him. His heart began to pound, a holdover from his nightmare as calm began to settle. Propping himself up, he cleared his throat.

“Sandra?”

Sandra said nothing, keeping still and Jace swallowed, spit sour in his mouth. He licked his lips as his nostrils flared, scent of lightening in the air. He tried to speak, but croaked instead.

“What are you doing?” tried to smirk. “I don't know what you're doing, but-”

Sandra slunk forward, limbs jerking as she climbed onto Jace's bed on all fours. Finally close enough for Jace to see her gaping mouth, the line of drool coming from in between her teeth. He didn't move, staring at her. He curled his lips and blew out a puff of air and Sandra flinched. She darted, too fast even for Jace, hands curled into claws and swiping at him. Sandra screamed. A guttural, phlegm filled cry of agony. Jace flinched, scrambling out of her way. Sandra flung herself at him, nails scraping against the hardwood floor. Jace pressed his back into the wall as Sandra snarled at him. Her bent frame and outstretched arms fixing Jace in one place. He lowered his hand and felt for something in his pocket.

Nothing. Jace threw out his arm, elbow hitting the dresser. Fumbling, he found a picture frame and he threw it at her head. Jace didn't wait to see if it connected, he just ran for the door. Sandra screeched and Jace slammed the door behind him. The door shuddered as Sandra slammed herself against it. 

Jace raced down the hall, an abrupt scream stopping him. Molly. Jace whirled around, taking the stairs down two at a time and burst into the kitchen. Molly was halfway collapsed, blood spilling down the front of her nightgown as Billy knelt above her, teeth ripping her throat. Jace froze. Billy's head shot up at the sound of the kitchen tiles creaking. His eyes were bloated and bloodshot. Jace took a step back and Billy rose up from his crouch. Molly gave a wet little gasp, blood bubbles bursting at the corners of her mouth. 

Molly's eyes rolled up in her head, choking. Jace stared at her until Billy's snarl turned his attention back to the boy. His lips were curled high up on his cheeks, red cuts stretching the skin. His teeth had yellowed, bits of gore peeking from in between the cracks in his canines. Billy lunged and Jace feinted his right, slipping on the linoleum. Billy yowled, twisting after him and crashing into the kitchen counter. 

Billy's head smacked into the counter top, blood spurting on his brow. Billy yanked himself up onto the counter top just as Jace pulled a bread carver out of a knife box. Billy screamed, flecks of blood and spit spewing from his mouth as he did so. Jace jumped backwards throwing the knife. Aim true, it sunk into Billy's forehead. Blood gushed and Billy crumpled, body splaying halfway across the counter top so that the upper half of his body leaned over the counter. Molly groaned, eyelids fluttering to reveal bloodshot eyes. 

Jace stumbled back to see Molly spasm, gurgling and flailing in her own blood. Her head twisted around, eyes bulging as she stared at him. His heart hammered, bile choked him. At Sal's familiar bellow, he bolted. The trucker's footsteps stomped through the hall. Jace could see him out of the corner of his eye. Sal bellowed again and Jace barely dodged the tackle as Sal leapt at him. Jace ducked and the other man's hands brushed his back. Jace stared as Sal tumbled to his feet and whirled on him.

Another rasping call and Molly emerged from the kitchen. Sal and Molly rounded on him. Jace trembled, staring at both of their staggering forms. His hands were empty of weapons, clothes sheathing nothing but his skin. Jace trembled, keeping his hands free. Molly and Sal blocked the kitchen entryway, but the foyer was behind Jace. Screams from upstairs made Jace jump and the couple ran at him. Jace spun around, sprinting for the door. Jace yanked open the door, their hands tugging at his jacket. He shrugged out of it, chilly air clung to his skin. 

They were hot on his heels and the only could twist his head. Glass shattered from above him. He looked up in time to see Sandra jump out her bedroom window. Limbs flailing, her scream spiraled through the night. She landed in a clump of bushes and disappeared. Jace weaved through the backyard and Molly screamed. An answering cry that didn't come from Sal. Arms pumping, Jace ran in the middle of the street. More than two pairs of feet gave chase and Jace followed the turn in the road until a copse of trees. Peering through the treeline, he could see a huddle of people. A few were wearing scrubs, but there were quite a bit who weren't. 

They fanned out, surrounding him as they continued to run right toward him. Jace swallowed, sweat pouring down his face. Their screams carried on the wind and Jace flinched. Crouching into the bushes, he yelled when a hand descended on his shoulder. Quiet surrounded him, faint lapping noises and the scent of rain. Jace wheeled around. The hand yanked itself back as Jace held up his fists and turned to face the owner of said hand. Tessa. She stared back at him. Jace straightened out, standing up to stare at the peaceful surroundings. 

They stood beside a river bank, the bare trees dark, even under the moonlight. Tessa frowned, eyes gleaming, bright under no outside influence, shining from some inner place. Jace's lips trembled. In the serene night with no monsters, Jace's eyes blurred. 

“You-”

He cut himself off, pulling back his fist and punched a tree. He couldn't see his blood, its color blended in with the dark bark of the trees but he could hear its splatter. The sound awakened Jace and he began punching trees. He opened his mouth and screamed. Guttural noises wrenching out of him as bile slid out of his mouth. Jace's fists slammed into the bark over and over, chips of bark cutting his face as they flew past him. His skin ripped in such a satisfying way. Tessa placed a hand on Jace's shoulder. He flinched but she didn't remove her hand. He curled in on her, head crooked in between her neck and shoulders. His tears came unbidden and he sobbed uncontrollably. Tessa rubbed his back, cheek on the top of his head. Jace didn't bother counting out how long they stayed like that until they untangled from each other. Tessa kept her gaze fixed on Jace.

“Time to go.” she said. 

Her voice soft and Jace's chest stilled. He found himself nodding and couldn't muster up a further reply. With just a blink of a reaper's eyes, they vanished from the small clearing as if they never were.  
___________________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	25. Only girl in the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either series. Just some entertainment for you guys.
> 
> Warnings: Language. Body changes/functions regarding pregnancy, implied violence/violence.
> 
> Word Count: 3,431
> 
> AN: As always, enjoy!

“What about...Aurora?”

“Hmm...a little too Disney princess.”

“So no Ariel?”

“Ha ha. No and no Jasmine either.”

“Then how about a Jessica?”

Clary pulled a face. “No.”

Simon rattled off a list of names. “Rebecca, Lindsey, Sally, Patty, Kelly, Sandy, Lisa, Matilda, Jamie, Zoe, Claire-”

“Only some of those are nice.” Clary laughed, holding up a hand. “No, thanks but no thanks.” 

Simon raised up both his hands. “Ok ok, just a suggestion.”

“Noted.” Clary said.

Clary shivered and Simon got up, handing her a blanket that rested on the chair. She took it with a nod of thanks and wrapped it around herself. She cleared her throat. The paled, gesturing for the trash can. Simon handed it to her and she promptly threw up. Simon winced and rubbed her back. Jocelyn padded into the room as Clary started a fresh wave of retching. Her mother made a little croon and went to their side. She placed a hand on her daughter's back. 

“I know, baby, I know. It'll be over soon.”

Clary lifted her head up. “How do you know?” she snapped.

“Usually at the three month mark, the morning sickness abates.”

“...Oh.”

Clary gulped and retched again. Jocelyn threaded her hand through Clary's shorn hair. Clary leaned into the touch and her eyes fluttered shut. They stayed silent for a few minutes. Simon didn't move and smiled at the way that Jocelyn's eyes softened at her daughter. 

“It'll pass.” Jocelyn said. She continued. “You need a hospital. Even if nothing is wrong, just to be sure. I can't remember much, but-”

“Doesn't matter.” Clary said.

Jocelyn blinked, pulling back to look at Clary. Simon frowned.

“I know its been a few weeks-”

Clary snorted. “Do you really think-”

The door opened. Sam, Dean, and Bobby walked through, dirty and rumpled. Bobby set down his shotgun on the kitchen table and began to clean it just as Dean shucked off his shoes. Sam opened up his laptop and eased himself into a chair. Simon's frowned deepened. 

“I thought Magnus and Isabelle went with you?”

Bobby jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. 

“Still by the car. Speaking of, where's Alec and the others?” he asked.

“Alec is in the yard, Chuck's upstairs, and who knows where Cas and Gabriel went.” Simon said. “W-what's it like out there?”

Bobby sighed. “Government's doing all it can, what with martial law imposed an' all. Still ain't enough checkpoints to curb the spread.”  
Dean raised a glass. “Merry Christmas.”

Simon raised an imaginary one in reply. Clary straightened, stomach stilled enough to do so, and she fiddled with the trashcan. Jocelyn took it from Clary and prepared to throw it out. Clary and Simon's faces twisted as they watched Jocelyn tie the bag off inside the can and pull it free. She stepped out of the room and Clary twisted her head to look over to watch Dean pour himself another drink. She frowned but didn't speak, as she took in the new tightness around his eyes and the way his shoulders kept stiff even as he stole glances at Sam and Cas. 

“Besides.” Clary continued, despite Jocelyn no longer being in the room, “What hospital could take me, what with the whole croatoan thing trying to take over the country.” 

Dean took a hard gulp. “Yeah.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Well it could be worse.”

Dean glowered at him but Simon didn't drop his gaze down until the front door banged open just as Jocelyn returned with the empty garbage can. Isabelle and Magnus hurried into the kitchen, arms cluttered with bags. Jocelyn dodged out of their way.   
“Hey someone get Alec.” Isabelle called. 

Magnus set down another plastic grocery bag. “They only had the cheese filled ones.” he called out to no one in particular.   
Magnus strode out the back door, returning a few minutes later with Alec. The young nephilim was pink cheeked and bright eyed as he followed the warlock into the house. His eyes widened as he took in the state of the kitchen. Isabelle kept pulling miniature trees out of the bags amidst the empty beer cans and wire beside a wreath. The wreath itself was almost completely covered with the beer cans, a little red bow tied uneven at the top. She raised an eyebrow.

“The hell is this?”

Sam peered over to follow her gaze. “Oh that. Yeah I...uh...” 

Dean lifted his head up and walked slowly into the kitchen. When his sight lay onto the beer can wreath, his laughter was forced out with a surprised huff. He rounded on Sam. 

“Really?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, little laugh as he met Dean's gaze. Dean held it, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“So where you boys gonna hang this?” Bobby asked.

Dean cleared his throat. “Oh, uh how about in the foyer?”

Bobby gave a little nod. “Alright. It'll be right at home next to that stuffed jackalope.” he said.

Simon and Sam grinned as Dean burst out laughing. Bobby's eyes crinkling as he watched them. Isabelle held up a hand. 

“That's not all.” she said. 

Isabelle's hands rustled around in the bag and took out a menorah, long golden stems tapering up into the candle holders. Simon's grin widened. 

“You didn't.” he said. 

“Hey we celebrate diversity in this house.” Clary piped up. 

Simon laughed. “Good thing you do or else we can't hang out anymore.” Laughing at his own joke, he gave Clary a hug. “Seriously thanks so much guys.”

Sam cleared his throat and Dean spoke up. 

“Speaking of diversity,” Dean raised his voice, held tilted up to the sky. “Hey, Cas get your feathery ass down here. You can't leave us hangin' for Jesus's birthday.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Actually that's-”

“A good point.”

Cas appeared in the middle of the living room, trenchcoat as rumpled as ever, a prerning Gabriel a moment behind him.

“You rang?” Gabriel drawled. 

Sam cut off Dean's remark before it could start. “Yeah we did.” Sam said.

Gabriel shrugged and stayed back a pace as Jo found some matches for the menorah as Dean took the beer can wreath into the foyer. Bobby and Jocelyn started laying out plates onto the table, Ellen grabbed some beers from the fridge as Clary and Cas set up the chairs. Chuck wandered down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and taking an offered drink from Ellen. 

They gravitated towards Simon, who lit the first taper and Clary's heart twisted as Simon's face was bathed in a tiny golden candlelight. His eyes shone, almost too gleaming to be real. His lips so full and pink that he reminded her of one of those exotic flowers that bloomed in the fervid heat. She suppressed a shudder, focusing on his steady breaths as she continued to stare into the flames winking on the sleek menorah. For the moment,she paid no mind to how the others stole glances at each other, or the way the light flickered across their faces, throwing shadows about the eyes and cheekbones. Clary swiped away the tears from her eyes. She'd be damned if she didn't get a clear picture of this. 

Simon straightened up, clapping his hands and just like that, the spell was broken. They all started talking again. Beers went around as Magnus made little firework figurines, popping and crackling as they danced about the room. Clary was pretty sure it was Bobby who turned on the radio, since he scowled as Gabriel sang over the carols with his own naughty versions of the songs. It dwindled down after a couple of hours or so. Alec passed out, practically in Magnus's lap.

The warlock wasn't much better off, his fingers stroked Alec's scalp with a smile on his face. Cas watched Isabelle, Dean, and Jo play cards as Bobby snored in his chair. Sam appeared lost in thought, nursing a whiskey as Jocelyn and Ellen spoke to each other in hushed whispers. Simon lay on the couch, watching Gabriel fiddle with a knife that probably came from one of Bobby's drawers. Chuck yawned. Clary went over to him and he did a little take as she approached. Chuck scrambled out of the chair and gestured for her to take it. She plopped down into it with a sigh. Clary regarded him for a moment.

“Can you do something for me?” she asked. 

“Uh...ok?”

“Can you get me a notebook and a pen please?”  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________

As Christmas passed, New Years passed in much the same way. In such a short span of time, Clary's notebook filled up to a third of its pages and she finally began to show. Another checkpoint in Kentucky fell and the circles around Dean's eyes grew deeper. It wasn't until March that they saw Gabriel again. He appeared just as the frost on the ground beaded into water, showing up just as Sam handed Dean a socket wrench as they fixed one of Bobby's clunkers. 

“Ye' verily, I bring great tidings of whatever!”

Dean's head shot up, banging into the underside of the car's hood. He dropped the wrench with a shout.

“Son of a bitch.”

“A little ya.” Gabriel said.

Dean glowered at the shorter man. “Tidings of what?”

Gabriel shrugged. “It's just fun to say.”

Sam stiffened, looking up at Gabriel through thick eyelashes. He clenched his fists for a moment and then relaxed them. His head shot up and he stared at Gabriel, who was not looking in his direction, but smirking at Dean. Sam almost scowled at the expression, yet something in him grew calm and he straightened up, stretching with a grunt. Gabriel's eyes flickered to him for a second, smirk still in place. Sam wanted to huff but didn't.

“I'm borrowing him.” Sam said. “Scuse' us.” 

Sam grabbed Gabriel's wrist, yanking the shorter man behind him to the point that Gabriel had to stride just to keep up. Ignoring Dean's shouts, the man tugged on Gabriel's arm again. Sam led him past rotting and rusting cars to a tree stump. He patted the surface of the stump.

“Pop a squat.”

Gabriel frowned but sat down. Sam squatted down to his level, haunches scarping the surface of the stump. His shoulder brushed Sam and the motion made Sam turn his head. 

“So.” he said.

“So.” Gabriel mimicked. 

Sam shivered in his jacket and Gabriel raised an eyebrow. Sam scowled as he felt the flush creeping into his face. 

“Really what did you want to talk about?”

Sam cleared his throat. “I...uh realized that I haven't thanked you for Bobby.” At Gabriel's raised eyebrow, he continued. “Really. You didn't have to do that. I know you just give me a pragmatic answer, but still. It means a lot to me and Dean-and Bobby of course, but he'd die before admitting that.” Sam laughed. “You know, I gotta say, I'm actually kinda proud of you.”

Then, feeling very stupid, Sam fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn that he saw a hectic splotch of pink across Gabriel's cheeks.

“Suit yourself.” he said. “Whatever, I was just trying to get in your pants.” he scoffed.

Gabriel leans forward and for one wild moment, Sam thinks he'll kiss him again. It doesn't happen, but he flushes all the same. It feels like someone has turned a stove on beneath his skin. He knows-knows he must be tomato red by now. He clenches his teeth until Gabriel backs out of his personal space. Sam sucks in a breath, body buzzing as he twists forward, and tugs on Gabriel's jacket to pull him down. 

Sam presses his lips hard over Gabriel's, feeling the surprised huff of breath against his mouth. Gabriel's lips part and its a sudden clash of lips, teeth, and tongue. Sam tugs Gabriel by the jacket and he tumbles into Sam, steadying himself by gripping Sam's shoulders with a tight press of hands. Sam teeters on the stump as Gabriel adjusts his weight so that he is sitting directly in the hunter's lap. Sam breathes through his nose, not breaking the kiss as he runs his hands up and down Gabriel's back. Sam leans too far to the left and nearly topples. His hands shoot out, gripping the sides of the trunk to steady himself. Gabriel pulls back with a gasp.

“About time Winchester.”

Gabriel's eyes seem far more gold than they did a second ago and they are heavy lidded as he parts his lips, pink tongue darting over his mouth. Sam shuddered at the stare that was being leveled at him, a flash of heat running through his whole body at that look. Gabriel was already breathing hard. 

“Shut up.” Sam said, already out of breath.

Sam leaned forward and kissed him again. Sam didn't know how long they stayed there and he didn't care.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
It was April and Clary's hair was beginning to grow back as he belly swelled. She continued to eat her banana as she, Magnus, and Alec watched Simon speak with the projected form of Camille Belcourt in Bobby's barn. A car rested in the center of the space, hood still fresh from its tune up. Alec and Magnus exchanged looks as Simon continued the round of verbal sparring. 

“Look, these are our allies so there's no need for our talks to be private-”

“Are they?” Camille cut in. 

Simon actually growled. “Yes. Yes they are. Look, if we don't work together, we'll never survive.”

“Your definition of together-ness is alarming. Praetor Scott is still choking at the implication of partnering with vampires.” 

“Well we knew he'd be like that, but come one. I'm mean Jordan is ok with it-”

Camille laughed. “A lone werewolf's trust does not fill me with warmth. On the contrary, it fills me with dread. To know that you would side with our enemies just to prove a point.”

“I'm not trying to prove a point, I just-”

“Want all of us under your thumb-”

“No. What I want is for us all to get along, at least reasonably well.” As Camille opened her mouth, he held up a hand. “Which isn't gonna happen if we don't work together. If that happens-”

This time Camille did interrupt. “What? Hunters will come kill us all? It sounds as though you intend to keep us checked in as the nephilim once did, kill us when we cross those invisible lines.” A scowl flitted over her features. “However that did not bode well for them. If you play at being one of them, it'll end badly for us all. You most of all. What we need now is a leader who will protect their own, not ideals.”

Simon frowned. The corners around his eyes tightened and she shook his head. “When you try to protect someone or something you usually end up hurting someone else, but if don't have any ideals than what do you have? Still, is it worth harming others for what you believe to be right, but how do you protect what you care about without hurting what others' care about?”

Camille pursed her lips, eyes shining as she squared her shoulders. There was no smile on her face as she talked. “You speak of ideals, of things that matter to you, and the respective worth of your enemies. You are far too kind to be in control of this clan.” She sighed. “Part of growing up is realizing how helpless you are.”

Simon reeled back, blinking rapidly for a moment to fix her with a look of sadness. He shook his head and when he stared at her next, his eyes had gone hard. 

“What you want and what you have to do are two separate things.” Simon said. His voice shook for a moment and then steadied. “I thought that was what I was doing while I let you use me. I didn't know what to do so I let you use me and it was wrong of me. I'll never get to take that back. So now, I'm going to fix it-it's probably wrong but I won't let you do whatever you want anymore.” Simon pulled back his bangs, baring his forehead so that the wanderer's mark blazed along his brow. He ignored Camille's intake of breath, continuing. “From now one, you take orders from me. Now you know I have the power to stop you.”

Camille narrowed her eyes, baring her teeth. Flipping strands of hair back, she said nothing and dissipated without a word. Simon lowered his hand, bangs falling back to brush his eyes and and he twisted around to see Clary staring at him with wide eyes.

“Did you just...”

Simon nodded. “I think I just did.”  
____________________________________________________________________________________________  
In the same garage, a few weeks later Magnus and Alec lay curled together on the queen sized mattress that was supported by milk crates. Crickets were beginning to sing in the spring air. Bobby had finished maintenance for the day and took calls inside. Alec's smile was soft, despite Mangus not being able to see it from burying his face in the crook of Alec's neck. They did not speak to one another as they let the world that had dropped down to the Singer Salvage pass them by. 

Bobby kept manning the phones, keeping a tight circle. Jocelyn joining him in his drives around around Sioux Falls. Together the two began a rapport with the South Dakota civilian militia. The army had yet to come, still trapped in the bible belt. 

As Clary's cravings grew stronger, the national broadcasting system shut down. Sam and Dean spent as much of the time as they could branching out along the Kansas line, mostly beside the army reservists. Simon delegated tasks to Camille as the tri-state area exploded into chaos. He tagged along with the Harvelle's or the Winchester's or the Lightwood's. Isabelle kept honing her weapons as Chuck and Clary wrote. Clary now had two notebooks filled with her words. The two of them were sitting on the couch on a cool morning, a glass for each of them. An orange juice for Clary and a screwdriver for Chuck. 

“Mm, how's it coming?” Clary asked.

Chuck rubbed his temples. “Ugh...this isn't right. I can see how it goes, but I just can't get the scenes down.”

“Yeah?”

Chuck grumbled. “Well yeah, I'm still trying to figure out what to write.”

Clary gave a thoughtful hum. “How about the truth?”

Chuck's little laugh settled in Clary's bones. “Believe me, I have. The truth-wart's an all is still a hard thing to see, let alone tell. I-I just don't know if I can do it. Now with the future the way it is now.”

“But it's the future.” Clary sighed. “Something's you can change, something's you can't. Are you not able to tell the difference at the moment?” she asked.

Chuck frowned, screwing up his face. “Umm, sometimes I guess. Mostly that I can see it whe I close my eyes and I-I just don't want to write it down. Like, if I do that, then it's set in stone.”

“It doesn't have to be.” Clary said. “When I touched Maellartach...” she let out a shaky breath. “I-I didn't just see. I knew. So that's why I've got these.” she held up her notebooks. “See what I can do. No matter what.”

Chuck gave another shaky laugh before giving her a genuine smile. He pointed to her chest. “See, this is why you're braver than me.”

Clary flushed and looked down. “That can't be true. No, I know its not.” She shifted a gaze back to Chuck with bright eyes. “You're so silly.”

Chuck choked on his drink, until the two sputtered with laughter, until Clary's notebooks spilled onto the floor. She set down her glass and picked up her notebooks. Sunlight collapsed onto her pages as she flipped back to where she was at. The two wrote on in silence until Clary fell asleep, only waking when Simon put a blanket over her.

“Mmmm.”

“Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you.” he said.

“It's alright.” she stretched, keeping a hand hovering over her belly. “Oh I think I found the perfect name.”

“Oh?”

Clary smiled, slow and sweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I did.”  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

TBC...


	26. Ten miles from Mars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either series or any of the recognizable characters in them.  
> Warnings: Violence, implied torture, intense bodily functions, and some language.  
> Word Count: 10,775  
> AN: Sorry that this is a bit late. There are a few original characters floating around. Thanks to everybody reviewing, fav'ing, and just plain reading this. It's all for you guys.  
> Enjoy!

Clary panted in the dark, sweat slicking her skin as her dreams coursed through her. Clary's eyes shot open. Darkness greeted her and she waited for her vision to adjust. She awoke with her back aching. Groaning, she rubbed her eyes, crust splaying across her cheeks as she took her time sitting up.

Keeping one hand on her belly, she braced her body by using her other hand to grasp the headboard. A sharp twinge of pain went through her and she sucked in a breath. Easing herself forward, Clary struggled to move and when her feet hit the floorboards, she shuddered. Clary stumbled downstairs and walked out the backdoor. Moonlight dusted the cars littering the yard. Clary stared. Cicadas sang through the air as she waited. Underneath the insects cries, a bubble of water same from somewhere. Clary sniffed, tears streaming down her cheeks. It took her a moment to begin walking.

By the time she got downstairs, the house was quiet. Padding to the kitchen, and opening the fridge and filled up a glass of juice. Clary fanned herself with her hand, sweat sticking to her as she took gulps of orange juice. Setting her glass in the sink, she went outside. The screen door swung behind her as she waddled down the three steps to get into the yard.

Moving among the cars, hands gliding over the metal. It was still, sound dulling to the point of deafness. With lips trembling and the stars overhead, she knew her limbs were buzzing in time with her racing heart. She couldn’t make a noise. When the moon began to set and first light crept up to the top of the trees did she begin to move again.

Clary walked past the cars, till she could only see their faint outlines. Copses of trees lined the way and she used the trunks and branches to support her weight as she weaved her way forward. Another bubbling of water and she whipped her head around. Only these humble woods and green grass surrounded her field of vision. No sight or source for water. Shuddering in the sudden breeze, she sniffed. No scent of water either. Bits of twigs and leaves tangled into her hair, tresses already grown back and sticking to her nape and shoulders.

Clary watched the sun rise higher over the small knoll a hundred feet away from her. Staring at the bars of light beginning to shoot up the horizon, Clary rubbed her arms to ward away a sudden chill. The sun warmed her face, drying her tears as she put her hands to her full belly. She waited until the sun rose before turning back to the yard.

When she got back to the yard, Simon was leaning against one of the cars, rubbing at his eyes. He looked up when he heard her shoes crunch on the gravel. Simon smiled back at her and she gasped as a twinge of pain snicked through her for a moment.

Simon frowned. "Everything ok?" he asked.

Clary nodded. "Yeah, well...a little thirsty actually."

Simon nodded back. "Ok, be right back."

"Thanks."

Clary blew out a breath, the shaky exhale coming out from the diaphragm. Like a gusty heave of the stomach and her abdomen rumbled in response. Resting her fingertips to the nearest car, a compact little thing, rust gathering at the inner folds of the rims. The quickly warming metal bloomed along her hands. Clary peered down to see her puffy faced reflection in the car's paint job. Clary frowned. Simon returned, holding a glass of water. Clary's wince melted away as she took the glass in her hand. She took a long swig.

"Whoo. I needed that."

"I bet." Simon eyed her. "What were you doing out here? So early anyway."

Clary shrugged. "I couldn't sleep." she frowned. "I, uh...actually, had a feeling. That, uh that-I-I can't really put my finger on it, but that I just needed to be awake, you know?"

Simon peered at her, expression lingering on her face. Clary flushed at the scrutiny. Her eyes flashed and she nodded.

"I know right. I can't explain it, but I had to be awake."

"No I get it." Simon leaned forward. "Really."

"Ok then."

Clary took another swig of water, eyes catching the way the light reflected off the surface of her water. A small prism winking in her eyes. Clary honed in on it until the refracted light made her eyes blur. Another burst of pain. Clary doubled over, dropping the glass. Water spilled out as the glass shattered onto the ground, catching on a piece of a broken bumper, and smashed itself to bits. Shards of glass mingled with the water that was quickly getting absorbed by the grass.

“Clary?!”

Clary didn’t answer. A deep wrenching pain came from within. Clutching her stomach, Clary kept the scream back in her throat as the pain increased. Simon went to her side, hands on her back. He peered into her face. She couldn’t summon the energy to scowl.

“What’s the matter?”

A sudden slam of pain, giving way to a cold gush. Water splashed down her thighs, running down her legs to join the water already pooling on the ground. Clary groaned, flushing as she watched more water sliding onto her skin. Simon followed her gaze, eyes widening as he looked at her legs then back to the ground again.

“A-are you?” Simon’s voice went up an octave. “O-oh my God.” He didn’t choke.

“Hnnnng.” Clary groaned. 

“H-hang on, I’ll get help.” Simon darted off, shouting as he did so. “Jocelyn! Bobby! Ellen! Come quick, Clary’s-”

Clary shook her head, trembling as she ignored Simon’s shouting. She lifted her head up in time to see Jocelyn, Simon, and Bobby striding to her side. Jocelyn took her left arm, Bobby her right. Jocelyn’s breath swirled in Clary’s ear and she resisted the urge to swat her mother away. The warm air ghosted on her neck. Clary squirmed and the resultant stab of pain made her hiss through her teeth. Jocelyn nodded.

“I know, I know that hurts. Have you been practicing your breathing exercises?”

Clary gave a shuddery breath. “Yes.”

“Ok, then start now.” Jocelyn said.

Clary glared at him but began taking deep breathes as she glared at her mother. Her legs wobbled as she tried to gain balence.

"I've got it." Clary said through clenched teeth.

The pain subsided and she could stand a little taller now. Jocelyn gave her a shaky smile and Clary returned it after a moment. Simon waved his arms. His mouth opened and closed, teeth bright, sharp little canines winking against his lips. Her gaze honed in on it for a moment. Bobby turned to scowl at Simon.

"Do something useful son, go and get some towels and boil some water." he said. "And grab the first aid kit-it’s in the hall closet.”

Simon nodded. "O-ok."

Simon dashed back into the house. He didn't return but Ellen opened the porch door and hurried to them.

"It's time?" At Jocelyn's affirmative, Ellen continued, calling out across the yard. "Jo, honey can you get Bobby's new books?"

A window opened from the upstairs floor. Jo poked her head out. She looked down, eyes widening. “Where do you want them?”

“By the desk.” Bobby said. “Now.”

Jo nodded and she disappeared from view. Clary craned her neck to watch Jo’s silhouette dash back and forth once or twice before disappearing entirely. Clary cricked her neck as she snapped her head back, dizzy at the movement. Taking another deep breath, she let them lead her to the porch. The moment her feet touched the wooded partition, she dug her heels in. 

“No.” She hated the whine that crept into her tone. “I want to move.” She said. 

“Ok.” Jocelyn said. “It’ll help with dilation I think.”

Clary groaned. “Really.” She flushed. “Thanks for that.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Women have babies every day.” Ellen said. 

“That’s right and we’ll have plenty of time to get to a hospital.” Jocelyn said with a smile.  
A spasm of fear shot through Clary in tandem with another burst of pain. This cramp was stronger than the last and she tried not to double over, instead leaning on Jocelyn. She pictured it: A large white room. Sterile but filled with sharp instruments, strapped to a bed with her feet in those stirrups like some kind of herd animal. Even the name-stirrups implied it. She’d be surrounded by strangers. Gloved hands pinching and prodding. She shuddered.

“No.” she said. “No, no hospitals.” Clary shook her head. “I don’t want a bunch of strangers touching me.”

“Clary-”

“Think about it. Croatoan virus is everywhere. Only military get the good hospitals now anyway.” 

“Think about this.” Jocelyn said. "There is so much-"

"I have." Clary said. 

Ellen put a hand on Clary's shoulder. "Whatever you want, but there won't be any anesthesia to help you along."

"I don't want any." Clary said. 

Jo walked back outside. "I put the books on the desk. What are we gonna do now?"

"I'm staying here." Clary said, voice straining. "You can't make me." 

Jo held up her hands. "No one's taking you anywhere you don't want to go."

Clary nodded, shuddering and teeth chattering. "Right." 

"So are you just gonna stay out here?" Jo asked. "I think we should call everybody back, just in case."

"I don't-"

"Clary." Jocelyn said, tone icy. "We're going to assist you, whether you like it or not."

After another sharp tinge of pain, Clary nodded. She gave a shaky smile, hissing and wincing. Ellen traded looks with Bobby. 

"I"ll prep the guest room." Bobby said. 

"What else do we need?" Jo asked.

"Come on." Bobby said.

Jo and Bobby went back inside the house as Simon tried to scuttle out of their way as he went back outside. Clary stared at the pillows he was holding in his arms. When he followed her gaze, he nudged his elbows to rustle the pillows. 

"Just in case." he said.

Clary scowled and Simon repeated himself. At Ellen's look she nodded. Simon set them on the rusty porch swing and then leaned his back against the wall and kept staring as the two women helping Clary pace back and forth along the porch. Clary kept her breath even as she tired to keep the prinkling of her nerves at bay. Her heart pounded, sweat sliding down the back of her neck, strands of hair clinging to her skin. Clary growled, trying to shake her shoulders loose from the two other women. 

Ellen eased up her grip a bit more than Jocelyn, but neither left her side. Clenching her teeth and squinching her eyes shut, she got her breathing back on track. Her body felt hyper sensative. The impact her feet made on the wooden floorboards made her moan. She ignored the way Simon's eyebrows rose as Ithuriel fluttered inside her. 

The angel was trying to send her waves of comfort, but they didn't take and Clary tried to keep her thoughts from becoming tangled at the implications. Clary tried to send a sensation of thankfullness back to Ithuriel and Clary smiled when she realized that emotion got through just fine. Clary closed her eyes, focusing on the quickening of grace fluttering through her until it practically vibrated, yet she still couldn't hear Ithuriel's voice. Only a mild hum of emotion; she knew that only her...encouragement was giving Ithuriel the second wind that she was experiencing at the moment. 

A sudden wrench of pain that caused her to double over with a strangled yelp. Clary sunk to her knees, pain coursing through her. Noise transitioned to a buzz, causing the shouts of her name to sound like angry bees humming in her ears. Simon bent down, arms outstrectched. His lips moved but Clary couldn't make out what he was saying. Jocelyn and Ellen's respective grips tightened on her arms. She wasn't sure who was the one rubbing her back, but it helped her ride the pain out. 

"D-do you need a hospital? Does she need a hospital?" Simon asked, head swivling back and forth between Jocelyn and Ellen. 

"No honey, she's still in the labor stage." Ellen said. "Her body is getting ready to give birth."

Simon frowned. "L-like...dilating? That thing on ER?"

Ellen and Jocelyn exchanged smiles. 

"Yes like that." Jocelyn said.

"So...normal?" Simon asked.

"Yeeeessss." Clary interjected, snapping. "Yeah, it's fine, sheesh. Talk about me like I'm not here."

"Clary." Jocelyn frowned.

Simon held up his hands. "It's cool. I"d be grouchy too."

At those words, Clary's eyes filled with tears and flushed. "Can I have some water please?"

"Coming right up." Simon said.

He went back inside just as Ellen and Jocelyn helped Clary back to her feet. She resumed her pacing, even as Simon gave her a glass of water. Clary gave it a little raise at Simon before gulping it down. The coldness of the water hit her stomach, and she winced but still wished for more. She kept walking, even as the sun rose in the sky and the heat beat down. Clouds still ghosted over the horizon and heat lightening flashed in the far distance. Clary huffed in frustration. She didn't pay attention to the time as the pain kept coming on, quicker and longer. 

Her body quivered of its own accord and Clary leaned her head back. Her groan was cut off with a harsh intake of breath. She could have sworn her eyes rolled back in hear head, back screaming at her as aches ran up and down her muscles. 

"Uuuuugh." Clary swallowed. "Take me upstairs."

Jocelyn sucked in a breath. Ellen gave a quick little nod. Simon backed up as the three women moved forward. Ellen and Jocelyn pulling tight manuvers to ease Clary into the door without letting go of her. Simon trailed after them, hands shaking as he followed them past the living room and up the stairs.Chuck, who had been napping on the couch, startled away when the door banged open and shut. He did a double take as he gaped at the women leading Clary up the stairs.

"I-is she?" he stuttered.

"Uh-huh." Simon said.

"What can I do?" Chuck asked.

"Just hang on a sec." Simon replied.

Chuck nodded and flopped back onto the couch, letting out an explosive sigh. 

Clary almost missed a step.

"Easy easy." Ellen said.

"We're almost there." Jocelyn added. 

Clary grumbled, making it to the landing and turned down on the left. The room was not quite cozy but not all together unpleasant. Spaces had been cleared out. Books shoved and stacks into high piles in the very corner's edges of the room. Any weapons that would have been in there were no longer in the vicinity. The bed was in the center of the room, dominating the small space. The small bookshelf behind the bed frame was crammed full of books, Just as many of the wooden surfaces were wont to do in this room. 

The exception in the room was a low, long rectangular coffee table. An elaborate looking first aid kit complete with suture tools nestled against a stack of thick towels. A high back chair next to it balanced a basin of water. Clary was led to the turned out bed with its thick, numerous pillows and settled onto her back. With a grunt, she sat up, back supported by the pillows. Clary winced at the spasms ripping through her, voice taking a new edge as she felt the urge to push.

Muscles jumped in her legs and she struggled to adjust herself. Ellen and Jocelyn were at her side. Bobby put a liberal amount of hand sanitizer on his palms and gestured for Jo and Simon to do the same. Bobby looked to Jocelyn. 

"How good are your saw-bone skills?" 

Jocelyn frowned for a moment, then her expression cleared into understanding and then morphed into discomfort. "Not as well as I would like for this."

"Ok, so what do you wanna do then?" he asked. 

Jocelyn scooted her chair closer to the bed. "Anything I can." she said.

"Fair enough." Bobby said. "Ok, I know Jo's got some saw-bone skills, so if that ever comes up she can help with that end. Ellen can assist her. Jocelyn, I'm gonna need your help. I got these books here," he gestured to a stack of three books on a chair. "Medical journals and what not, but that still won't make up for experience. I'll need you to help tell me when something's gone wrong. Simon, you support Clary, keep her comfy. Everybody wash up and put on some gloves."

Everyone bustled about and Clary's eyes darted back and forth between all the occupants of the room. Jocelyn stroked her cheek and Clary jerked her head. Her nostrils flared like a horse's as she tried to situate herself. 

"Here, sit up hon." Ellen said.

Clary lifted her hips, arms shaking to support her weight. Ellen and Jocelyn put a couple of towels underneath her. She wriggled her pelvis, eyes scrunching shut as she tried to keep sitting up. Clary finally flopped back onto the pillows with a grunt. The pain was at a near constant and rippling hum throughout her body. Nightgown riding high up her thighs, bunching at the hips as she let her head back on the headboard. Pulse hammering in her throat, choking her as she kept her head still, eyes staring up at her mother. 

Someone cleared their throat and Clary's gaze zeroed in to see Chuck fidgeting by the doorway. His eyes were dark and wide. Clary wasn't sure what it is that she was seeing when she looked in them, but was dimly aware of him asking what he should do, but didn't follow the answering response. Clary groaned again and Simon turned to her. 

"Here, hold my hand."

Clary nodded, squeezing his hand. As she did so another flood of pain made her cry out. She had the oddest sensation of squirming and wrenching, as if both the baby and the angel inside her moving in tandem. Without thinking about it, she pushed. Nothing happened. Growling, she pushed again. Her back screamed in protest as she sat up, trying to gain leverage. Jocelyn moved forward, fumbling into Simon, who tried to avoid hitting her. Clary watched them with a growl as their knees jostled the mattress, sending a jolt of pain through her. 

Jocelyn shifted herself so that her upper body was supporting Clary's back. She took no chair when it was offered. Simon took her previous spot and at the sight of Clary's wiggling fingers, resumed holding her hand. 

"Keep pushing honey." Jocelyn said.

Clary whipped her head to her mother, lips pulled back in a snarl. 

"I know that."

Clary began again, pain lancing through her, struggling to get comfortable, she tried to sit higher up, muscles shaking in the effort. 

"Nothing's happening." she said. "Why? I'm trying-" her voice came out a whine.

"It's gonna be alright baby." Ellen said.

Simon kissed her knuckles and Clary flinched when Bobby's big, calloused hands came down on her belly. His hands moved over, fingers vice like and the responding kick went off like a gunshot inside her. Clary's sharp cry made the windows rattle. Lightening from outside illuminated the room. Bobby's eyebrow's rose.

"Ellen, I need you to take a look under the hood, see where were at." 

Ellen nodded and patted Clary's knees before she bent down to look in between Clary's legs. 

"...Something's blocking the canal...I think it's the placenta."

"Damn it." Bobby moved one hand to flip through the pages of the book. "I think baby's a bit turned around." He shouted out to Chuck, who was still in the hall. "Hey. Call the boys back here and tell them to hit up a hospital on the way back."

Chuck's footsteps echoed as he crashed about, racing down the stairs.

"No!" Clary screamed. "No hospitals!"

"Clary-" Simon began. 

"No." she shook her head. "I won't go."

Another rippling spasm rolled through her, Clary's insides shuddering as she bore down without thought.

"Ok honey, I need you to hold off on the pushing for a minute." Ellen said.

Clary's grunt transformed into a whine. Contractions kept thundering through her. It now took everything in her power not to start pushing. A cramp hardening in her body; a burning sensation coursing through her. Clary shivered, giving another drawn out moan. The burning cramps were increasing as warm liquid leaked out from down out between her legs, dripping down her buttocks, and onto the towels. She tried to grit her teeth, but the grinding molars just rammed a headaches into her temples. Hissing in pain, gripping Simon's hand like an iron vice. 

"Ithuriel...Jace isn't here...I need your help. I can't do this without you."

A sensation went through her, much like the sea coming to tide. It flooded through, filling limbs with heat. Scent of ozone permeating. She knew the impression of the words, even if the vague Enochian drifting into her mind was strange but she understood the gist of it.

"It will be alright little one."

A gentle inward tug. Bobby's hands shifted on Clary's stomach. A swimming-like propulsion. The baby's feet kicked out at her ribs and Clary gave a little yelp. 

"Ok, I think Baby's in the right spot now." Bobby said. "Now, about that placenta-"

Clary huffed but the squishing noise didn't cease as Ellen tried her best to prod aside a fraction of the placenta peeking out.

"Bobby I'm gonna need some forceps clamps for this."

The burning cramps and the blazing energy of Ithuriel dueled for prominence within her body. Head lolling, she leaned toward Simon. 

"Jace isn't here." she said.

Clary ignored the way Jocelyn tensed. Simon nodded. 

"No, he's not." Simon said.

Clary nodded.

Ellen pulled back. "Ok, we got it pulled back as far as it would allow." She set the clamps down, wiping her brow with the inside crook of her elbow. "Ok Clary, now push."

"About time." she said.

Clary bore down, deep hot pain amplifying as her muscles vibrated in protest. Ithuriel racing inside her body, practically lifting her up off the bed. Clary flopped back down, arms shaking as she tried to expel her child from her.

"Again Clary." Ellen said.

Clary did so-and screamed.  
___________________________________________________  
A few hours later and the doors to Bobby's finally opened. Sam, Dean, Isabelle, Alec, and Magnus all filled in. As soon as they stepped into the foyer, Chuck came bolting to them. He leaned against the wall, panting. 

"Thank God, you guys are finally back." he said.

Sam frowned. "What happened?"

"Clary's having her baby."

"What?"

Dean and Isabelle exclaimed in unison.

"I tried to get a hold of you guys." Chuck said.

"Phone's dead." Alec said."The place was over-run-"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. yeah. Clary's having trouble."

"What kind?" Magnus asked.

"They said the placenta was blocking the birth canal." Chuck said. "Did you guys go by any hospitals?"

"No." Dean said, going pale.

There was another shout from upstairs, a high pitched whine layered behind it. Dean winced and Sam put his hands over his ears. Isabelle and Alec exchanged identical grimaces as Magnus prodded his own ears. Dean continued to blanch. 

"What about the placenta?" Alec asked. "What?" his voice a bit higher as his ears reddened. "If it's damaged, the spell doesn't work right?" he asked.

"I would assume so." Magnus said. "But assumptions are mistakes at this juncture, so better summon your angels' boys." 

Dean didn't so much as scowl, pulling out his phone a rapidly dialing. He spoke after a moment. "Yeah, Cas it's me. Listen, it's time so you two get your feathery asses down here ASAP. Yeah, ok."

He hung up the moment Bobby's voice shouted from upstairs. Chuck jumped up and ran back upstairs. He was only there for a few minutes before Chuck raced downstairs again. He pointed to the stairs. 

"Bobby need some of you guys to switch out with the others upstairs. He also needs fresh towels."

"I'll go." Magnus said. "I have some experiences in medical mayhem."

"I'll get some towels." Isabelle said.

The two followed Chuck back up the stairs amidst another deep shout echoing from Clary. A peal of thunder answered in reply. 

"Is it ready?"

Dean jumped. Cas appeared in front of him. 

"Almost."  
_________________________________________  
Jace lifted his head up, scent of rain all around him. The drizzle dampened his hair and pooled in the creases of his jacket. Boots squelching on the fresh mud. The sound wasn't quite drowned out by the rushing of the river. Jace tilted his head as if straining to catch the last note of a whispered birdsong. The clouds obscured the stars, lightening forking across the sky. The sounds had been snatched away from him. He paced along the length of the river. The wind ruffled his hair. All was silent now. He only felt her presence seconds before she was behind him.

"Tessa." he said.

"We have to go now." she said. "We've lingered here too long."

"Hmm." Jace clicked his tongue, the little chirp echoing like a shot. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."  
___________________________________________  
"So just waitin' on her then?" Gabriel asked.

Sam frowned. "She's doing her best." he said. "We have all the other ingredients."

"Oh then it'll be a snap." Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.

Sam huffed. "Gee, you think?"

"Now we can at least set up the circle." Cas said. "As long as we keep it from washing away."

"Yeah." Dean said. "What else?"

"The map." Cas said. "You mustn't forget to follow the Axis Mundi. The spell opens a door to Heaven-that you already knew-but it takes you straight to the angelic spheres." Cas paused for a moment, frowning. "Think of it as...the employee's only section."

"Ok and the prison is...upstairs, what fifth floor?"

"Thereabouts." Gabriel said.

A series of shouts came from upstairs, a heavy ultrasonic whine behind the pain filled cries. Frames shook on the walls, and a couple of books fell onto the ground. Gabriel clicked his tongue. He checked an imaginary watch.

"Come on now."  
____________________________________________  
Clary's shout petered out to a groan. Jocelyn had be replaced, with tight protests, by Magnus. The warlock steered her out by the shoulders, but she still hovered by the door frame. Clary huffed, baring her teeth. She leaned her head on Simon's shoulder, panting. Sweat clung to her like a second skin. 

"Jace...he isn't coming back, is he?"

Simon took awhile in answering. "No, he isn't." he said.

Clary closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, and nodding before opening them again. "Ok."

Clary bore down, muscles straining to the point where she need to stop for a minute. The shuddering inside her meant she was close to expulsion. Clary growled again, pleased with the way her throat rumbled with the sound. It lessened the frustration. She timed out her pushes, only ceasing for a minute or two before continuing. Each contraction ripped through her, taking away a piece of her sadness. A part of her letting go of Jace little by little as she worked through the pain. 

"She's crowning." Ellen said. "Just one more push, honey."

Clary could barely nod to show her agreement, taking a deep breath and pushed. She gritted her teeth as she squeezed, bearing down despite the burning going through her. Sweat poured down her as the kicking went through her canal. Clary squeezed her eyes shut, screaming as she imagined tiny limbs flailing inside her, struggling to get out. Tiny fingers pressing against her wall, head wriggling to escape. Clary shuddered at the image and she gave a final push. A deep wrenching pain overwhelming the burning within. The slow turn of the baby's shoulders as it escaped the confines of her body. 

Blood gushed down her legs. Clary groaned, the insistent urges to push not quite gone. She could barely move her legs, but her muscles managed to eek out a few movements. Clary choked as the placenta squelched out of her. She shivered when gloved hands brushed against her entrance to handle her child. She wasn't sure, but she thought it was Ellen who caught her baby. The scent of copper was everywhere. Clary's eyes rolled everywhere as her body began to spasm. Her grip on Simon slackened, his voice fuzzy to her ears. She could barely open her mouth to speak. Alarmed renditions of her name meant nothing as more people surrounded her. 

Clary was dimly aware that more blood was spilling out of her and sticking to the sheets. Simon was snarling above her, eyes looking black in the fogginess of her vision. Simon's hand was tugged away from her and she whined. Clary snatched at his hand and held on. Someone was at her shoulders and another was by her legs. Her vision shorted out, growing dimmer at the edges.

It was easy to imagine herself watching the scene from below. Jocelyn was being held back by Chuck as both stayed in the doorway. Jo with needle and thread beside her thighs, hands blurring in their haste to stitch her back together. Ellen carrying a bloody tupperware filled to the brim. She raced away before Clary could react. She was aware of clutching onto Simon, babbling at his wan and tight face. Bobby was holding her baby, cleaning the fluids still covering the limbs and face. 

From her vantage point, she could peer into the damp towel to see a screaming, scrunched up face. A heady surge of affection went through her, enough that see could see her arms reach for the child. 

"Ithuriel..."

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you."

Warmth, vital and blinding went through her. Her eyes shot open. The world looked brighter, sharper somehow. Wavering lines shimmered through the air, like connecting points of light moving all around each other. She could see sound, the way the wavelengths bended in time to a beat that she didn't quite understand. Ithuriel was humming beside her, grace working from within. Clary tried speech, but nothing, only a faint sense that the angel was alive. For now, that was enough. Clary closed her eyes.  
_____________________________________  
Ellen raced down the stairs and everyone looked up at her approach. Magnus, after helping Chuck remove Jocelyn, who could not stay calm in the face of her daughter's danger, was now silent. Magnus held up a clean towel. 

"Can she take any more magic?" Alec asked.

"Not at this rate." Magnus said.

"Just as well. Ya'll need to get started." Ellen said. "While this is still fresh."

She gestured to the Tupperware of placenta in her hand. Sam nodded and went to the fridge to pull out the dead sea salt water. Isabelle handed over the nephilim remains to Dean, the small package steady in her hands. Dean took it with a nod. Gabriel pulled out a slim knife. Alec hurried to find something to cover the circle with as the small kitchen bustled with activity. 

Alec finally founded a tarp inside the hall closet and he gestured to Magnus. 

"Do you think you could hold this up to keep the circle from being damaged?" Alec frowned. "Or did you use up too much magic?"

"No, I should be fine. Thanks for asking." Magnus stroked the side of Alec's face. "It was good thinking, to keep the spell work protected. It'll-"

Simon appeared on the top most step, shouting down as he did so.

"It's a girl!"

Ragged, slightly distracted cheers rose up as Sam, Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Alec, Isabelle, and Magnus headed out the back door to the salvage yard. The rain had yet to let up and everyone set down the ingredients as Alec and Magnus unfolded the tarp. The warlock held the material aloft without the use of his hands and everyone dove into action. 

Cas began to draw the sigil underneath the tarp, a complex array of circles within circles interconnected to each other in a hexagonal shape. Gabriel took a sliver dagger and began to drag it across his skin, mixing his blood with the dead sea water and mryyh into a copper bowl. Isabelle took the nephilim remains and placed a piece of each in each of the cardinal directions that had been in the raised grooves of the sigil. Sam took the parcel of Tupperware and slid the placenta out and let it plop into the center of the sigil. Sam tossed the container away from the circle. 

"Get inside the circle." Cas said. 

Sam stayed put and Dean walked over to him with a set expression. Alec hefted up an earthen jug of holy oil just as Cas took the copper bowl from Gabriel and made his way over to the brothers. Sam and Dean stood opposite each other, Clary's placenta lying in between them. It's juice slowly being absorbed into the ground. Cas began chanting Enochian as Alec poured the holy oil onto the etched lines of the sigil. Cas's hands stretched as far as they would allow and tipped the basin, spilling some of the mixture onto Sam's head. Sam flinched at the coldness of the liquid but said nothing, hair dampening even as the fabric of his shirt became soaked. 

Cas turned around to repeat the process with Dean. Gabriel began his own Enochian chant as Alec poured the last of the holy oil. Dean blinked rapidly, green eyes seemingly brighter with the mixture caught in his eyelashes. Cas zeroed in on this detail and Dean met his gaze. The angel lowered the basin. The rest of its contents soaking into the righteous man's shoulders. Cas's hands shook, mouth still chanting as he flung the basin away from the sigil. It fell to the ground with an impressive clang. At one he ceased chanting. Cas raised his hands again, this time hovering by Dean's upper arms. Dean's whole frame tensed, eyes half lidded as he took deep breaths through his nose. 

"Good luck." Cas said. "Both of you. Try not to die."

Dean's lips twitched. Cas lowered his arms, pivoted on his heels, and stepped out at the circle. As soon as he stood next to Gabriel, the archangel stopped his own chanting. Everyone except Sam and Dean stepped away from the sigil. Gabriel snapped his fingers and the holy oil lit itself on fire. 

Sam gaped and Dean did a double take. On their side of the holy fire, heat shimmered around the angels, light bending and refracting like some kind of mirage. Sam's eyes darted back and forth between the two angels, a smile playing on his lips. 

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

Gabriel frowned in confusion, looking around until he twisted his head. His eyes widened for a moment then laughed. 

"Oh. You can see them huh?"

"A little, I think so." Sam said. "Is that what that shimmering heat wave thing is?"

Gabriel laughed. "I shimmer huh?" 

The laugh was so genuine that Sam couldn't help but flush. Dean clicked his teeth and focused on the other angel. 

"Must be the spell." Gabriel said. 

Cas, who for once, was restive under Dean's scrutiny, startled. Dean, for his part was still staring at Cas as though he was just now getting a look at the angel. Sam gave a quick glance to Dean and waved a hand in his brother's face. No reaction. Dean continued to have a startled, slightly bringing out the green in his eyes. Cas's eyes widened in alarm. He shuffled from foot to foot.

"Wait, you-" Cas said. 

"Dude." Dean said. "Are those your wings?"

"I-" Cas cleared his throat. "You may end up in a different location when you return."

Dean ignored the information. 

"Cuz' they're awesome." he said.

"W-what?" Cas's voice stuttered. "You can see them?"

"Like Sam said, just a little bit."

Cas shifted his wings, the air shimmered again at the rustle of movement, as if the particles in the air responded to his touch. The shifting of the wings made them blur back to a shimmer, which meant a little soreness for Dean and Sam's eyes, but Dean tried to catch every movement, leaning forward. Cas mirrored the gesture, eyes suddenly future before staring up at Dean's face. 

"Truly?" he asked.

"Hells yeah." Dean said.

Cas gave a little huff of a laugh and a smile. Dean's answering grin spread onto his face. The two maintained eye contact until Gabriel cleared his throat. 

"Don't forget to call us when you get back." he said. 

Before either brother could respond, the holy oil burned brighter. The flames gaining strength and height until it towered hundreds of feet into the air, becoming brighter until it was just a blinding white light. It vanished as quick as it came, revealing the circle to be empty.  
___________________________________________  
Dean blinked his eyes open to find himself and Sam in a field surrounded by dense forest. His brother groaned, sitting up. He turned to look at Dean. 

"Are we in?"

"Hang on." Dean said.

Dean stood up and Sam followed suit. Dean strode over to a tree. Sam stared up at the night sky to see a luminous moon hanging in the air. Dean took out an angel blade, its edge gleaming from moonlight, and he carved a sigil into the dark bark of the tree closest to him. A long looping scrawl with a sharp line dashed through it. For a moment, nothing happened and then the mark gave a dim glow, as if lighting up the tree from the inside. 

The bark melted, texture crumbling as the bark peeled itself back to reveal a tall opening. Dean peered through and saw the top corner most of a spiral staircase. Sam walked over and stared past Dean's shoulder and gaped at the staircase. 

"Ok...yeah." Sam said. "I'm in."

They exchanged looks before Dean went into the tunnel first, with Sam shrugging as he hurried after his brother. The entryway behind Sam didn't close itself behind him and he gaped. An ornate ivory spiral staircase was in the center of a tower with soft golden glow emanating from its walls. Dean walked up the stairs, eyes trained on the ascending point at the top of the stairs. 

He was still clutching an angel blade, but Sam kept his hands still in his pocket, hands wrapping around the handle of his own angel blade. Sam reached the top moments before Dean and hovered by his brother, staring at the curved doorway with a frown.

"Ready to go down the rabbit hole?" Dean asked.

"Ready when you are." Sam said.

Sam pulled out his angel blade and walked out the door with Dean. The doorway led to a corridor. A long corridor done completely in white, bright yet there was no source of light to make it so. Rows of doors on either side of the hall. Sam and Dean exchanged looks but kept walking forward. Neither said nothing, as there was no way to gauge how long they been moving until they reached a fork in the hallway, going down left and right. No signs indicated where they should go. 

Sam and Dean exchanged another look with each other before taking the left. They only went three feet before a little dip in the wall revealed a set of stairs. They were narrow enough to have to be taken one at a time. Dean went ahead of Sam, who clicked his tongue in response. Sam nipped at Dean's heels and the lengthy stairs finally stopped after a few hundred feet. The pristine white halls gave way to an archway of grey stone. 

Sam nudged Dean and jerked his head in the direction of the archway. Dean eyed it for a moment before nodding and following Sam to walk underneath the archway. The moment that he was beneath the highest point in the arch, did Dean realize he could hear rustling. His arm shot out, hand gripping Sam's shoulder. Sam glanced back at Dean, who placed a finger to his lips. 

Together they listened to the fluttery rustles that seemed to grow louder the longer they listened. Dean spared the archway a final look before taking the leading and going through it. Sam shrugged and went through as well. The next room was spacious and dingy, gray stone decorated the surroundings as far as decoration could be concerned. It seemed old-fashioned, even medieval. Row after row of cells. Cells that resembled the opening of the mouth of a cave, deep indents in the wall at least two feet wide and six feet across. Each cell was divided by thick stone walls. However, the front of the cells were recognizable by the round, steel bars blocking the entrance of the cell. A slim steel door was visible in the center of the bars. 

In the center of the space was a huge chair that was divided into three sections to recline. It resembled a dentists chair, except for the thick, metal restraints for the extremities and even the chest. It was kept in pristine condition. A stark contrast to the rest of the room's gloom. The lone trolley cart loaded with knives, syringes, and implements Dean didn't care to think about. With a shudder, he turned away.

The rustling grew even louder and Sam peered through the bars of the closest cell. Dean rubbed at his eyes. Angels. Row after of cells were all full of angels. Sam gaped. Angels were either sitting or standing in their cells, a few were even pacing. He hesitated for a second but Dean strode forward, whistling. 

"So what are ya'll in for?" Dean clicked his tongue. "Got one too many traffic tickets?"

Angels perked up, fixing their attention on the two men, as Sam went to Dean's side. Sam's eyes darted around, trying not to be caught staring at the trapped angels that stared back. He didn't recognize anyone. Not that he expected to, but these were angels somehow Sam could see them as having a human appearance. Yet, Sam kept looking for something familiar. None of them spoke. Dean turned to Sam, an expression of wary confusion. 

"Well there's no need for everyone to talk at once." Dean spread his hands. "Just offering to give you guys a chance."

Another stretch of silence until a lone angel made a dismissive snort. 

"Chance at what?"

Dean blinked. "To stop Lucifer." At the smatterings of murmurs and conversation, Dean raised his voice. "Come one, say what you want about me, about people, but I think we can all agree that Lucifer needs to be stopped-"

"As if he can-" someone called out. 

That sparked off a round of arguments, even a few shouts. Sam and Dean exchanged another look, both frowning. Sam spun around, glancing back to the archway but no one came. Sam said nothing, looking back to stare at Dean. So far, no angels tried to get close to him-one of them shifted. A shifting of limbs was as good as jumping up and down to an angel. Sam craned forward. It was the next to last cell on the left. A flash of red entered his vision and Sam stilled.

"Dean."

He nudged his brother, who was preoccupied with the glowering angels. Dean narrowed his eyes. Sam jerked his thumb at the cell. 

"I think you should see this."

Dean followed Sam's gaze and his frowned deepend. Both of them headed to the cell and both doubled taked when they got there. Dean's eyes widened as he took in the thick, dark red hair, tangling down small shoulders. Pale hands sitting on the lap, fingers intertwined with each other. 

"Anna is that you?" Dean asked. 

The red hair moved, revealing a face. Anna stared back up at them. Her eyes looked sunken in, iris's dull as she stared at the two of them. Sam shivered. After staring at them for a long moment, she then began to speak.

"Dean?" Her voice was soft. "Sam? What are you two doing here?"

"We're here to get you out." Dean's voice was equally soft. 

"...What?" Anna asked.

"We need you." Sam said. "You and the other angels-"

Anna sighed, wisps of hair puffing away from her cheeks when she did so. She fixed Sam with a look but her eyes were brighter than they were before. Fiddling with her hands, she looked up at Dean. 

"Explain."

"We bust you guys out-depending on who wants to come-to stop Michael and Lucifer from ripping Earth in half from the apocalypse."

As Anna was nodding throughout his words, she added. "Then I'll go. I know I can convince some of the others here to come with us. Most were locked up for disobedience." 

"Well they'll have plenty of that if they come with us." Dean said. 

Anna pitched her voice so the other angels could hear. "Alright. The end is drawing near. Most of us are here because of disobedience but I consider it my duty to so our Father's work and that means stopping our brothers from bringing on the end. Whoever feels the same should come with us now." 

"You need to use a seal to open the doors." another angel piped up.

Sam frowned. "A seal?"

"Who's that?" Dean asked, pointing to the angel who just spoke.

Said angel noticed and spoke before Anna had a chance to. "Tabris."

Dean nodded and Tabris pointed to a set of keys resting on a hook. 

"Please hurry." Tabris said.

"Yes, before Iruel comes back." another angel said.

Sam reached for the keys. "Iruel?"

"The Highest Interrogator. It is his job to reform us." Anna said. "He really should have returned by now."

"Figures." Dean gritted his teeth.

Sam snagged the keys, fingers flipping through the long, slim pieces jingling in his hands. He settled on the one that only had three teeth at the end of the key. There was no lock that he could see but the angels were giving suggestions. 

"Just tap it to the bars."

Sam did exactly that and as soon as the metal touched metal, a sigil appeared on the bars. A trio of circles interconnecting with one another as two slashes crossed each other like an X through the circles. A small inverted V arched over it. It burned brightly against the bars, humming in a low pitch. It lasted only a minute but Sam stepped back just in time. 

Instead of opening the doors, the entire cell bars slid up, like a garage door until the bars vanished from sights and the cells appeared to resemble an alcove. The angels all stared at Sam with wide eyes.

"Well?" Sam said. "Snap to."

Blinking, the angels finally moved and snatching the keys from Sam, began to free the other angels. Said angels began to move. Anna heaved herself up in a quick, continous motion and strode out of her cell. Her shoulder brushed Dean's jacket and she stared up at him. 

"Now what?"

"We go to the garden." 

Anna stared at him, gaze now sharp and Dean shifted from foot to foot. He kept his eyes locked on Anna. He nodded and together the two turned to face the others. 

"Where does the Axis Mundi go from here?" Sam asked. 

Some angels stiffened, almost imperceptibly. A slight tightening around shoulders and a hardening of the eyes. Tabris on the other hand nodded. 

"Yes. I know the way." At Sam and Dean's sharp glances, he added, "So does Anna."

"Anna?" Dean asked.

"Follow me." she said. 

Anna took the lead. Sam and Dean exchanged another look. At Sam's silent nod, his brother went up beside Anna as Sam waited for the rest of the angels to stay in the middle as Sam brought up the rear. They all passed under the archway again. Dean shivered. The rest of them passed through it without incident. Anna took a turn into an alcove, leading them down a previously unexplored hall. This hall was designed much like the prison, with thick stone walls and drab colors. The passageway widened itself out until Anna stopped, fists clenched as she looked around. 

"What?" Dean asked.

"Iruel-"

"I'm highly disappointing in you, Anna. We had been making such progress."

Dean raised his angel blade higher to point it at the newcomer that appeared before them. A tall man in a pin striped three pieced suit stood in front of them. His hands were clasped together but it was his smile that made Anna pull back. It slowly appeared on his face, showing teeth. Sharp, white points bright against soft flesh. 

"Now we'll have to start from scratch." Iruel said.

Four others angels stood beside him, flanking him as they glared at the escaping prisoners. Two on each side, each one with identicals suits. None of the foursome spoke. Instead, Iruel gave instructions. 

"Sahaquiel and Armisael take the angels. Ramiel and Baraquiel, the Winchesters." 

Sahaquiel and Armisael darted forward, blades in hand. Rushing, the little band, they went straight in the center. Anna pushed Dean behind her just as Ramiel and Baraquiel swerved to tackle the brothers. Sahaquiel raised his blade high and brought it down to Anna's head. Anna twisted her head, narrowly avoiding the swooping angle of the blade. 

Her hair fluttering, she swerved and brought her palms up and striking Sahaquiel's elbow. His arm flailing, grip failing to hold his blade. The blade sailed through the air. Anna punched Sahaquiel, fist slamming into his stomach in one two punches that sent Sahaquiel reeling. His blade descended and Anna caught it by the handle, slashing at Sahaquiel. The angel scrambled back and three other angels rushed him. Armisael hurried forward just as Ramiel swung at Sam. 

Tabris, shouting, pushed himself between Sam and Ramiel, yanking on Ramiel's shoulders and shoving him into Baraquiel. The two angels crashed into each other, limbs sprawling together as they slammed into a wall. 

"Leliel, Baruch, grab their blades." Tabris shouted.

Leliel and Baruch tackled Ramiel and Baraquiel. Three more angels joined the tackle, taking Leliel and Baruch's places as the two stepped back with weapons.

"Sam, Dean run." Anna said. "Hurry, down the hall. Don't look back."

They hesitated for just a moment until Sam grabbed Dean's arm. Together the two dashed down the hall. Said hall widened out to accommodate three people abreast of each other. The walls cracked and two new angels appeared before them. 

"Now what?" Dean growled. 

Sam raised his blade higher. The angel on the left took the shape of a blonde woman. She raised her hands up, moving closer to the two men. Dean shifted his stance and she froze. The angel beside her, a tall dark skinned man. His eyes darted from his companion's face to the Winchester's. His hands were clenched at his sides as he continued to stare. 

"We mean you no harm." he said. 

Sam scoffed as Dean glowered at the two angels. 

"Really. You are searching for the garden, yes?" the male angel asked.

"And?" Dean prompted. 

"And we can take you there." he said. Ignoring the look he got from his companion, he continued. "We heard. All of Heaven will know where you are by now-"

"So Cas was right." Dean said. "I should have-"

"Cas?" the female angel's voice sharp.

"C...Castiel." Sam said.

The two angels' expressions transformed. They exchanged smiles. Sam lowered his angel blade as the two angels finally looked back at the two brothers. Both of them had moved closer to them but neither had weapons in their hands. 

"Castiel is still alive?" she asked, voice high. "Oh-I'm relieved, alright, I'm coming with you."

Before they could respond, the other angel spoke. 

"I will assist you as well. I am Telantes and she is called Rachel." 

Shouts and footsteps echoed through the hall as Anna and the others jogged down the hall to rejoin the Winchesters. Anna stiffened at the sight of Rachel and Telantes. 

"Rachel." Anna said.

"Anna, we need to hurry." Rachel replied.

Anna narrowed her eyes. "That much is true."

"Guys." Sam said. "Can you not do this right now?"

"Where's the garden?" Dean asked, voice tense.

"Here." Telantes extended his hand. "The door, is this way."

Telantes presses his hands onto Sam and Dean's respective shoulders. Dean blinked and their surroundings changed. Dean whirled around as Sam tensed. Both men raised their weapons again. Dean's eyes widened. 

"Is this-" Dean asked.

"Those botanical gardens in Cleveland?" Sam answered.

A variety of thick, rich foliage was densely packed together within the circular space. The domed ceiling revealed a grey sky. Sam frowned. The cluster of angels paced around, silent and darting. Sam and Dean's gazes swept through their surroundings. Dean leaned toward Anna, keeping his voice low. 

"So...any ideas?"

Anna shrugged, not meeting his eyes as she readjusted her grip on her angel blade. Her entire frame was rigid as she kept still. She made a shushing noise.

"Wait. I can feel-"

"Can I help you?" a new voice asked.

A rather unassuming African-American man in jeans and a flannel shirt stood in between two trees. His placid smile and warm eyes regarded the group. He brought his hands together, wiping non existent dirt on his blue jeans. His weathered hands stayed still at his sides. 

"I'm Joshua." he said. "Nice to meet all of you."

Tabris was the only one to respond. "To you as well. It's nice to finally nice to meet God's gardener."

Joshua laughed. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"This is fascinating and all, but we're on a schedule. Think you can wrap this up and take us to God." Dean said.

Tabris shut his mouth with a quick snap. 

"Y-you can't just-" one angel said, only to be quieted by another.

"We've got somethings to tell Him" Sam said.

"He knows." Joshua said.

"What." Sam's voice went flat.

Joshua's smile was soft, eyes crinkling at the corners. Yet the expression sobered before his smile faded and the eyes glimmered with something akin to sympathy. Dean bristled. 

"What's that supposed to mean? When he finds out what's going on-"

"And he knows." Joshua said, hands brought up to eye level and held out. "It's just something that doesn't concern him." He shook his hands. "And by that He believes it to be something that He doesn't need to worry over."

"What." Sam repeated.

Dean shook as the rest of the angels went silent. Anna gaped, lips trembling even as her eyes became stony. Dean brought himself into Joshua's personal space. 

"You're trying to tell me that God doesn't care about what happens to us? The guys that He told you to protect?" Dean's voice became strangled, unable to continue.

Joshua's hand moved forward, hovering up by Dean's shoulder. It stayed there for a moment before he dropped it back down to his side. He didn't drop his gaze but kept it even to Dean's. 

"For the record, I'm hoping you'll succeed."

Sam scoffed and Joshua turned his head to level a stare at the man. Sam lowered his gaze after a second, scowling. He clenched his fists. Dean kept staring at Joshua and the angel spoke up again.

"Really. I want you to save the world. You'll just have to do it without Him." he said.

Dean snorted. "Figures. Should have known."

"Dean-"

Dean shuddered, ignoring Sam's tone. Sam tried to catch his brother's eye, to no avail. Sam swallowed hard, a chest heavy as if he had a cold, hard ball settle in the pit of his stomach. Dean's eyes had darkened, losing their shine as his frown deepened. The wary severity etched into his face. Sam glared at Joshua, who was unmoved. 

"It's best for all of you to leave now, before you get caught. Zachariah may be dead, but there will be more." Joshua said. "I'll send you on your way."

Joshua pressed his hands onto the brother's respective shoulders as the angels pressed close together Dean and Sam closed their eyes.  
________________________________________________________  
The moment those eyes opened and they were in a manicured, green lawn. A three story stucco home, done in a mock adobe structure. The wrap around balcony rested on the second floor. A lone figure rested on a chair in the center of the porch. Sam looked up, doing a double take. His blade glinted in his hand as he brought it to eye level. Elbowing Dean, he kept his gaze trained on the balcony but his brother wasn't paying attention. 

Dean's expression was far away even as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. His voice was distant as he gave brisk answers to Castiel. He ended the call, sliding the phone back into his pocket, and not even a moment later, Castiel and Gabriel appeared. The angels became even more anxious at the sight of Castiel and Gabriel. 

Rachel and Telantes smiled at the sight of Castiel. Gabriel strode forward to a cluster of the angels. 

"Hey-hey, if it ain't my old garrison. Shit, how have you guys been?" he called.

"I think you already know the answer to that." 

Sam jumped. Yet another angel appeared. This one, he could guess at the identity.

"...Balthazar?"

"The one and only." Balthazar said. 

"Well then I better introduce everyone." Gabriel said. "This is Balthazar, he used to be in Cas's garrison. It looks like some of you were in his-"

"Mine." Anna snapped.

"Oh, excuse me." Balthazar said, rounding on Anna. His expression shifted into something that could have been joy or antagonism, but it definitely had a sense of thrill to it. "I didn't see you there. I had no idea. Truly, you are a voice in the darkness-"

"It's nice to see you are the same as ever." Her voice was icy. 

"Ooooook, this is Xaphania" Gabriel said, gesturing to the angel closest to him. 

He began to introduce the rest of the angels just as Castiel strode over to Dean. The two were only a foot apart. 

"You were successful." Cas said.

Dean flinched, averting his eyes from Cas's face. That didn't deter Cas, who peered up to catch Dean's eyes, waiting for the man to meet her gaze before speaking. 

"Explain-"

Dean made an explosive noise from the back of his throat. Cas actually jumped, but whatever he could have said in response was halted as Dean's story just spilled out of him. Cas's eyes widened as Dean spit out the details of the angel prison, ignoring Cas's responsive shudder and how his gaze shifted from disbelief to anger as he described the conversation with Joshua. Sam listened, with a frown.

"No-"Cas said. "That can't be possible, that has to be a lie-"

Sam's voice was soft. "No-"

"As if." Dean cut him off. "How are you surprised? If anyone was ever a deadbeat dad, it'd be him-"

Cas pulled back as if struck and Sam sucked in a breath, glaring at Dean. Dean blinked back and forth between Sam and Cas, as though he was coming out of a dream. When Cas glared at him, he lowered his eyes. Sam continued in a soft voice.

"It's not a lie. I wish it was, but it looks like we're on our own." Sam said. 

Cas, who had been staring at Dean in undisguised shock, now twisted his head to gape at Sam. Cas's eyes shuttered, expression turning melancholy as even the color of his eyes seemed to dull. Gabriel kept on with the litany of names, unheeding of the conversation carried on right next to him.

"This is Levanael, Charoun, Ophaniel, Ambriel, Elimelch, and Bithiel." he laughed. "Damn, bro I had no idea you'd be surprised." He screwed up his face in mock concentration. "Does that count as a spoiler?" he sneered at Cas. 

Cas spun around, glaring at at Gabriel. All traces of melancholy gone. His eyes had become flinty, lips pressed into a thin line, and he had gone pale. He clenced his fists, actually shaking. Gabriel took one look at Cas's state and laughed. Sam frowned, dissaproval clear in his features. Cas darted forward to Gabriel, but before he could do anything else, Sam placed himself in between the two angels.

"Enough." he glared at Gabriel. He spared a glance at Cas before looking back at Gabriel. "Cas, he's just trying to get a rise out of you to take your mind off of this. He means that well but he's not all that bright."

Gabriel put a hand on his chest, gasping as he stared up at Sam. "I would never. How can you-"

Cas scoffed, but his hands unclenched and his mouth slackened a little as he turned his attention back to Dean. He was still frowning however. Cas closed the gap between them until they brushed shoulder to shoulder. 

"Dean-"

Another burst of an angry exclamation. It became apparent that Anna was the source, as she shoved her way through the crowd of angels. Dean looked down in time to see her hand clenching her angel blade. She strode over to Cas until they were chest to chest and in one fluid motion, raised her blade and pointed it directly at Cas's throat.  
__________________________________________  
Chuck sat up from the couch with a strangled shout. Sweat clung to him, shirt twisting so that his shirts' collar so that it rode high up to his chin. A button smushed against his cheek. He kicked off the covers and adjusted his shirt back to where it should fit on his frame. Rubbing the crust out of his eyes, he swallowed rapidly. Chuck leaned down, hands hitting the half full bottle of whiskey at the foot of the couch. Fumbling for it, he took a swig. He coughed. It didn't alleviate his cottonmouth. 

His vision adjusted, finally becoming crisp as colors settled. The only light source was coming from the kitchen. The soft amber from the overhead light brought clarity to his surroundings. He turned his head. On the other side of the couch, Jo was curled into a tight little ball, snoring softly. Jocelyn was using Bobby's chair behind his desk. Her arms were crossed against her chest as her head leaned to the left, eyes fluttering in R.E.M. sleep. Chuck looked back into the kitchen. Bobby was padding around the stove, stirring something in a pan.  
Chuck set the bottle back down. He stumbled off the couch and made his way to the kitchen. Bobby looked up, waving a spatula in greeting as Chuck plunked heavily into a chair. Chuck ran a hand through his hair, covering his eyes So he sensed Bobby's movement then directly seeing it. 

"You look like hell." Bobby said.

"Thanks."

Bobby's tread was somewhat heavy as he walked over to the fridge. Pulling out a beer and grasping it by the neck, he nudged the beer at Chuck's elbow. Chuck jumped at sudden sensation of cold condensation on his skin. Peeking out from his arms, he looked up to see Bobby offering the beer. Chuck nodded in thanks, twisting the cap off, and taking a long pull of beer. He hummed in appreciation and Bobby turned back to the stove. 

"So...bad dream?" Bobby asked, tending to the cooking food.

"Eh?" Chuck took another swig.

"Heard ya cryin' out in her sleep. Didn't want to startle you out of it."

After a moment, Chuck nodded. "...Yeah. Yeah got another vision."

He watched Bobby goes still for a moment before resuming cooking. His voice was trying to stay light.

"That so?"

Chuck gave a shaky nod. "Uh-huh...thing is, it felt like it was something I wasn't something I was supposed to see."

"Oh?"

Chuck nodded again. He took two long swigs before speaking again. When he did, it all came out in a rush. "The angels brought Adam back."

Bobby didn't quite turn around, but tilted his head. "Who?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "Ummm...John's illegitimate son, so...Sam and Dean's younger half-brother?"

Bobby turned fully around to gape at him, spatula plopping into the skillet and he burned his omelette.  
___________________________  
TBC...


	27. Road to nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I could sing a cute little number about copyright but it'd be off key, so instead, here's the fine print.   
> Warnings: Higher than usual violence, angst, and various character deaths.  
> Word Count: 8,345  
> AN: I'm sorry this is so late. The schedule is gonna be a little late too.  
> Enjoy!

"Woah woah woah. Let's just calm down."

Dean held up his hands, the gesture useless as Anna continued to hold Cas at knife point. Cas looked both unsurprised and wary as he stared at Anna. Anna's eyes were cold as her gaze didn't waver. She ignored everyone within her surroundings as she addressed Cas. 

"You put me in prison." she stated. 

"Yes." he didn't blink. 

Anna pulled her blade arm back and thrust her arm forward to strike. Cas didn't move as the blade came straight for him. Dean darted to them but Balthazar was quicker than him and grabbed Anna's arm. Anna whipped her head around to glare at Balthazar as Cas stepped back. 

"As feisty as ever, eh?" Balthazar said. 

"Let me go." she snarled. 

"Not quite." Balthazar replied. 

Sam shot his brother a glance but Dean didn't notice as he moved closer to the three angels. He raised his hands again. Dean's voice was soft and steady. 

"Anna." he said. "You've got plenty to be pissed about but we can talk about this later. We're not safe out here."

Anna finally turned to look at Dean. He straightened at her blank stare. After a few minutes, she lowered her arm. Dean's shoulders visible slumped and Sam let out a breath. Anna whipped back around to glare at Cas, eyes narrow and dark.

"We're not finished." she snarled.

Cas lowered his head in assent. Dean moved to his side but Sam held back, frowning. Dean kept his own expression neutral as he began speaking to Cas. 

"Think you can shazam us back to Bobby's?"

"Yes." Cas's voice is flat. "Hold on."  
_______________________________________________

Simon was holding a transistor cap when Sam, Dean, Cas, and a small host angels suddenly appearing in the yard. Gaping, he froze on the spot. Sam and Dean stood opposite one another of Cas. A whole group of angels surrounding them, totaling out to twenty. 

"Where are the others?" Dean asked.

"Inside." Simon side. "I don't think the angels can get past the warding."

"No we can't." Anna said with a frown.

"I'll get em'." 

Simon bolted to the door of the house, returning a few moments later with Bobby and Ellen flanking him. Isabelle, Alec, and Chuck following suit. The prophet's jittery energy was offset by the quiet but sharp aura of the Lightwood siblings. They approached the angels slowly, feet not making a sound as Chuck stumbled. His sneakers snapped a twig underneath him. Sam startled a little but no one said anything. Bobby cleared his throat. Sam just now noticed the rifle in the older man's hand. The older man kept a tight grip on it. 

"Everything go according to plan?" Bobby asked.

Dean scoffed, eyes dark as his shoulders shook. Sam and Cas both looked at him with dark frowns. When Dean wasn't more forthcoming, Sam spoke up.

"We got caught-" Sam began.

Bobby swore. Sam held up his hands. He rushed on.

"We got everyone we could and no one got hurt, but-"

"But we better get inside." Bobby finished. "Magnus is redoing the wards." He pointed to the angels. "Don't touch anything."

Bobby led them back inside. The new angels glanced around their surroundings, nonplussed as Sam and Dean corralled them inside. Balthazar and Gabriel whispered back and forth to each other as Cas eyed Anna. The former kept a guarded gaze as the latter glowered at him. Alec and Isabelle stared as the angels flitted in. Twisting a strand of hair, Isabelle pursed her lips as her brother shifted from foot to foot. Chuck went in last, shutting the door behind him. 

Sam turned to see Clary sitting on the couch, a wan but content smile on her face. A small bundle of blankets cuddled against her chest. Sam's expression brightened. He lowered his voice as he addressed Clary. 

"Congratulations. You guys doing ok?"

Clary nodded, shifting the bundle forward. At her widening smile, Sam moved forward to get a closer look. He peered down at a pink face peeking out from soft blankets. A little head was the only visible from out the bundle; expression was scrunched up in sleep as little lids fluttered. A soft puff of air from tiny nostrils. Sam looked back into Clary's face.

"Her name is Eden." she whispered.

"Pretty." Sam said. "I can see why you chose it."

"Yeah, yeah. This is friggin' fascinating. Just a cherry on top of this shit sundae." Dean said, tone sharp. 

Eden stirred. Clary, Jocelyn, Sam, Bobby, and Simon turned to glower at Dean. 

"What's your problem?" Simon asked.

Sam cleared his throat, beating Dean to the punch as Sam explained just what happened in Heaven. Out of all the angels, only three of them-Gabriel, Anna, and Balthazar-seemed unfazed by the recounted information. Cas's hands shook, head bowed. He said nothing. Alec and Isabelle reached for each other, fingers fumbling for a minute before interlocking their hands together. Magnus watched Alec bite his lip and shake his head. Magnus's cat eyes glittered in the light, narrowing as the words settled into the air. 

No one particularly noticed Chuck's reaction. The small man was pale and trembling even as his eyes bored into Dean. His gaze, for just a moment, appeared ancient. A terrible sadness weighed his expression. His lips trembled. No trace of teeth as a twitch of a smile-grim as it was-graced his features. His features finally stilled and he closed his eyes as he squared his shoulders. When he open them, they were clear and bright. 

"So...God doesn't care?" His voice held a strange waver. "What does that mean?" he asked. 

"That we're on our own." Dean said. "Big surprise."

"Now look-" Bobby said.

Cas shoved a hand into his pocket and fished out the amulet. He tossed it to Dean. His voice was tight.  
"Here. I have no use for this." he broke off whatever he was going to say, clearing his throat.  
Sam's head turned as if pulled by the force of a large, invisible hand. He stared at Dean holding up the amulet by its' string by two fingers. Sam shivered at the way Dean's lip curled into an almost snarl. A twist of fury in the ghosting over his face before being replaced with a blank expression. His green eyes lost their depth of feeling. Without a word, he tossed the amulet over his shoulder, only for it to skitter underneath the stove. Chuck sucked in a breath. Hurt flashed across Sam's face as his hands clenched. He ducked his head before anyone could speak.

"Then what's the next step?" Clary asked.

"Obviously we keep going." Isabelle said. "We have new allies, now we can carry out any plan we choose." he tone brooked no argument.

"Um...I had a vision." Chuck said. "The angels brought back Adam."

People began to speak at once.

"Who?" Alec asked.

"Your brother?" Clary asked.

"Half brother." Sam corrected. "It's complicated."

Bobby held up his hands. Chuck continued. 

"I'm not sure if they wanted me to see this or not." he said. 

"Where is he?" Cas asked, now focusing his attention of Chuck. 

Chuck gave a little fidget. "Uh...the Midwest?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Cas spared him a glare that Dean caught out of the corner of his eye, but before he could comment, the angel spoke.

"I'll check."

Cas disappeared and then reappeared a few minutes later. 

"Adam is in University of Milwaukee dormitories. Apparently they have been re-purposed for refugees by the army."

Bobby cursed. "Dammit, that virus is creepin' up in that direction from the south. The army is spread thin enough as it is." he said. 

"Preaching to the choir." Sam huffed. 

"You know it's a trap right?" Dean didn't make it sound like a question. 

"Obviously." Magnus said. "Although it sounds like we'll have to spring it anyway."

"Which is why we need a plan." Bobby said. To Ellen he asked, "Is Jo still upstairs?" At Ellen's nod, he replied. "Ok, get her and everybody huddle up. Here's what we're gonna do."

_____________________________________________

The drizzle wasn't unpleasant on his skin. On the contrary, it tried to wash away the sweat that beaded on his arms and neck. Fog hung in the air, skimming over the grass. Jace and Tessa stood side by side on the sidewalk. He stared at the silent crowd. It was not a crowd of people. It was yesterday and the day before that. Now it was a crowd full of reapers wearing the guise of old men in black suits. They stretched down the block as far as Jace could tell. Tessa was the only one with a female shape. None of them moved. Jace couldn't muster a single sarcastic comment. 

"What's happening?" he asked.

"It's almost time." Tessa said.

Jace frowned. "For what?"

But she didn't answer.  
____________________________________________________  
Bobby spread out the map across the table and began circling points.

"Ok, so the army's checkpoints are here, here, and here. Since the refugee camp is in the center of theses points, the surrounding areas are going to be the safe zones. The farther away from them, the less protection there'll be. I doubt they even have full control of the city." he said. 

"So pockets of croats, with the army trying to keep them out of the zone limits?" Alec asked.

Bobby nodded. Jo turned to look at the older man.

"So where's Adam exactly?" she asked. "I mean, we are rescuing him right?"

Bobby, Ellen, and Sam exchanged a round of looks between each other. 

"Of course." Ellen said. "We can't leave him."

"He is the spare vessel for Michael." Cas put in.

"Yeah can't forget that, can we?" Dean bit out.

Cas closed his mouth with a snap, tearing his gaze away from Dean's face. Anna, however, kept staring back and forth between the two of them. 

"Which is why," Bobby cut in. He pointed at Dean. "You stay here and guard the sword."

Dean's head snapped up and he glared at Bobby. "Come again?"

"You heard me. You're benched." Bobby held up a hand. "No. It's too dangerous. We already know this is a trap, then we'd be playing right into their hands by bringing you. You'll do more good here."

Dean's mouth pressed into a thin line, frame rigid as he glowered at Bobby. Sam shifted in his seat but remained where he was. He kept trying to catch Dean's gaze. 

"You won't be alone." Sam said. 

Dean reeled, twisting back to face his brother. Cas watched the two of them stare each other down. Dean scowled. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. 

Sam straightened his back. "You aren't the only one feeling the grind." he said. "Just-"

"Just what." Dean snapped. "Just take your word for it? Already did that. Look where it got us."

Sam blinked rapidly, as if sand had been thrown in his eyes. Throat working, he didn't look away. Sam took awhile to speak again.

"...So you still don't trust me."

Dean's voice was heavy. "No."

Sam let out a breath. "Thought so. Don't know why you would."

Sam's tone was weary, expression becoming abrupt and shuttering into neutrality. Dean shuddered as Sam continued to stare, not quite focusing on Dean's face. 

"Just...stay here ok?" Sam lowered his voice. "Please."

Sam leaned forward and Dean swallowed, unable to meet his brother's eyes any longer. Anna moved closer to them and bother men jumped, pulling away from each other. Anna's eyes blazed. She addressed Dean, getting too close to his personal space. Cas's eyes narrowed. 

"Don't give up or else you 'll be like-"

"Don't." Cas barked. 

He ignored the sudden attention brought to him. Cas turned away from Anna's glare and Dean's sudden, insolent smirk. Cas kept his posture stiff as he addressed Bobby. 

"What do you suggest?" he asked.

Bobby spared a quick glance to the Winchesters before raising an eyebrow. No one spoke. He waited another minute before speaking. 

"We'll I'd say that we need to split into two groups. Gotta have some angels in both." He pointed a finger to a thick black line. "We take this route we can get there faster. Bring whatever you think will help. ID's for the checkpoints just in case. Clary, can we use your truck?"

"Of course." Clary adjusted Eden against her chest. "Everything will be ready to go."

Bobby nodded. "We'll bring my van, just in case. We've still got some medical supplies left."

"I imagine we can ask the military if they have any to spare." Jocelyn said.

"How many can fit in the truck bed?" Alec asked.

"Three can squish in the cab and about...six in the truck bed." Clary said. "But they gotta pack light."

"Yeah." Jo said. 

Rachel, one of the angels, finally spoke up. "A force of us can get there without the use of vehicles. We'll provide the back up."

"I'll come with you." Anna said.

"As will I." Cas replied.

Before she could respond, Gabriel spoke up. 

"If this trap works, then you'll need me. If anyone can distract my big bro, it's me."

"Then I'll go too." Sam said. "Show of hands, who's coming?"

Ellen, Jo, Simon, and the Lightwood siblings. Dean raised his hand.

"I'm coming or this isn't happening." he said. 

"Dean-"

"No. I'm not gonna sit back here while that kid takes a bullet for me."

"No one's saying that." Sam said. "Look, can you be an adult about this?"

"No." Dean's jaw set.

Gabriel snorted as Magnus rolled his eyes. 

"I mean it." Dean said. "I won't let him die cuz' of me."

Sam bent his head and after a few minutes, he looked back up a took a breath. 

"Ok."

Dean blinked. "Ok."

"Ok, can we get this show on the road?" Bobby asked. 

"Quite." Magnus replied. 

"I'll get the truck." Jo said.

Jo stood up and strode out. Gabriel clapped his hands together. The angels came to attention and he began to rattle off orders. A flurry of movement and Dean could imagine wing beats. Cas moved away before Dean was able to walk around the table. An angel bumped into Bobby and the older man stumbled back with an exclamation. The offending angel's non-expression didn't change as Bobby shoo'ed them out of the kitchen.

"Too many damn people in my house." Bobby growled. 

Ellen gave a brief snort of laughter before exiting out the backdoor. Eden started to fuss and Clary shushed her, grabbing a spare blanket before walking out of the living room. Only Bobby and Dean remained in the kitchen. Dean fidgeted underneath the older man's gaze but the only thing Bobby said was, 

"Good luck, son."  
_______________________________________________________

Coming down from the I90 and I94, they made it to Milwaukee with no problems. Dean idled the impala down the main street, peering out the windows, hunting for signs that led to the University of Wisconsin. In the rear view mirror, Clary's blue pick up truck followed them. He caught a flash of blonde hair and realized who was driving. Shrugging, he wasn't surprised that Jo was trusted with a car that wasn't hers. She did alright getting baby out of New York City.

Dean looked back to the windshield. With Cas in the backseat, Dean kept his eyes fixed on the road, and turning down on the right when Sam pointed to a hand made sign. Thin wire fences were erected in various patches of lawn as they were herded down the street. There were only a few cars parked but the place had a sense of population, of lived-in-ness. Soon enough, men and women in worn fatigues gathered at the roads until there was a checkpoint.

Without a word, Sam opened the gloved compartment and handed Dean some ID's. A soldier walked over to them and Dean rolled down the window. Bending down to their level the soldier greet them.

"Where you folks headed?"

"Just to get out little brother." Dean said.

"Name?" the soldier asked. 

"Adam Milligan."

The soldier headed back and consulted a second man in fatigues beside him. Together, they pored over a thick clipboard, flipping through pages. The first man went back to the car. 

"He's still on the list. Go on through. We've got a curfew at ten-thirty." he said.

"Sure thing." Sam said. "Can you give us directions to the University?" he asked.

The soldier nodded, rattling off directions. Dean gave a brisk nod to the men and drove forward into the safe zone. A few streets down and a couple of turns later, they found the campus. A wide cul-de-sac fenced in a modest park. Dormitories surrounded them. 

"Which one?" Dean asked.

Instead of answering, Cas pointed to the far right. Sam squinted. A plaque erected in the lawn of the front of the building. It read : 'East Sandburg Hall'. Dean glanced up at the rear view mirror. Clary's pick-up truck was a few paces behind them. Turning on his blinker, Dean drove into the parking lot. The truck pulled up beside them. Both cut off their engines. Jo and Ellen got out of the cab as Simon, Isabelle, Alec, Anna, and Gabriel piled out of the truck bed. Sam, Dean, and Cas got out of the impala. Without a word, everyone got their things and went to enter the building. 

______________________________________________________________

Clary hugged Eden closer to her, humming as she fed her baby. The blankets tucked around her hips, legs, and feet. They kept the chill away despite the summer air. Clary winced as Eden took a particularly hard tug. Clary stared down at her daughter. Her whisps of red-gold hair were thicker and longer than what Clary had previously estimated. Her skin was a healthy pink, warm and dry. Clary's right hand supported Eden's head. Thumb and forefinger stroking soft skin. Her left arm cradled Eden, who was still content to suckle.

Clary tilted her baby's head a little so Eden could have better access. It was a totally new sensation, nursing was. A small mouth sucking and pulling. Fatigue settled over her but she was mentally alert. Clary was still riding high on the coattails of her adrenaline. She had a baby. Her baby was here and in her arms. Clary sniffled, trying to wipe her eyes without moving her hands too much. A floorboard creaked and she looked up to see Jocelyn walking towards her with a glass of water. Clary's smile faltered. Jocelyn frowned, sitting next to Clary. 

"Let's trade."

Clary hesitated for a moment as Jocelyn set the glass on the coffee table. Clary shifted, stroking Eden's cheeks as she tried to disentangle baby from nipple. Eden fussed and Clary shushed. Jocelyn's arms outstretched and the transition from mother to grandmother was more nerve wracking than Clary anticipated. Jocelyn cradled Eden in her arms, crooning softly as she rearranged the downy blankets. Within minutes Eden was asleep.

"Wow, that was fast. That's got to be a super power." Clary said.

Jocelyn looked up with a smile. "You'll get the hang of it."

Clary grabbed the glass of water. Jocelyn eyed her. 

"In the meantime, you need to get some sleep." she said.

Clary took a swig of water. "I'm fine."

Jocelyn searched her face. "You seem...different." she said. "I don't know."

Clary sucked in a breath. "I feel different." she waited a moment before continuing. "Ever since I had Eden, I've just been..." she trailed off, avoiding Jocelyn's gaze. 

"Well...whatever you've been feeling. It will be alright." She cleared her throat. "Now I want you to go upstairs and get some sleep. We'll be here when you wake up." 

Clary nodded, unfurling from her seat and heading for the stairs. She managed to get out of Jocelyn's sight, halfway up the stairs when her vision shorted out. Sharp, burning went through her body. Thumping against the wall, Clary managed to catch herself before she fell. She coughed, sudden wetness splattering on her lips and chin. Clary wiped her mouth and stared at her fingers. They came away red. Ithuriel fluttered inside her, voice frail in Clary's head.

"I'm sorry, I can do no more."

"It's ok. Just save your strength. We'll need it."

_____________________________________________________________

The inside of East Sandburg Hall was spacious, it's interior resembling a hotel. The multiple floors were visible from the ground. A check in desk dominated to the left of the doors. Only one young woman manned the counter. She looked up at the group's approach. A few people sat at the couches that cluttered the center of the room. About ten or so. They stared at the group, but any interest within their expressions was dulled. Dean called to the attention, clearing his throat. 

"We're looking for Adam Milligan." he said. 

Two girls exchanged surprised glances but the rest shrugged or murmured noncommittal noises. One young man cleared his throat. Sam fixed his attention to him.

"I think he's still upstairs. He's on the fifth floor, room 206 on the left. Can't miss it." he said. 

"Thanks." Sam said. 

Dean pointed to a hallway in the left hand corner of the room. At the young man's nod, Dean turned and strode off in the offered direction. Sam and the others hurried after him. The hallway curved to a stairwell. Each flight of stairs could be easily seen just by looking up to stare at the way the went alongside the corridor where the rooms were. Dean jogged up five flights and found room 206. Dean tugged on the handle but the door was locked. 

"Does this seem a little too easy to you?" Simon whispered to no one in particular.

"Yeah." Sam said. "Dean, wait a-"

Dean set about picking the lock, small clicking of the tumblers before they gave out and unlocked for him. Dean opened the door and went inside. Sam made to follow his brother and the door slammed shut in his face. At once, sigils scrawled themselves all over the door, edging at the walls. Anna, Cas, Gabriel, Isabelle, and Alec were flung back in a flash of light. Simon shouted in alarm and Sam covered his eyes. The light faded enough for him to lower his arms. 

The angels had been banished and the Lightwood siblings flung back down the far end of the hallway. Sam only spared them a glance before trying to open the door. As soon as his hands touched the metal, he pulled back with a sharp hiss. His hands came away red. 

"What now?" Simon asked.

Sam didn't answer, pounding on the door. 

"Dean? Dean!"

_______________________________________________________

As soon as Dean stepped into the room, the door slammed shut behind him. Dean jumped, whirling around to try and open the door. The handle was gone, as if it never hand one in the first place. From the other side of it, he heard his brother pounding. He banged once on the door in reply. 

"I'm ok. Just get out of here-"

"Dean?"

He stilled. While he only heard it a few times before, he recognized the voice. Lowering he hand, he turned around to face the speaker. Sitting in the small living room, with only the kitchenette in between them, was Adam.

____________________________________________________________

The guards posted at the checkpoint had very little warning. Only the slightest of sound before a roaring horde of croatoans came sprinting down the road. The first soldier opened fire as the second radioed it in. The first emptied the magazine and a single croatoan leapt over the barricade and tore into his face in the time it took for the soldier to reload his gun. The radio crackled to life and the second soldier barely had time to reply as he was swarmed. He fired his gun, bullets ripping into soft, infected flesh. It didn't deter them but sirens blared and the soldier's last thoughts were of relief. The croatoans forced their way into the safe zone.

_____________________________________________________________

Sirens wailed through the building, piercing the air. Simon cried out, clapping his hands over his ears. Jo shivered, accepting her mother's offered hand. Ellen pulled her up and the two looked around. Sam hadn't moved from the door as Isabelle and Alec jogged back to them. The siren kept on wailing.

"Now what?" Isabelle snapped. 

"Trouble." Alec replied.

"Yeah and how much you wanna bet they're croatoan." Simon replied. 

Ellen frowned. "You think that was a part of the angel's trap?"

Jo paled. "Is that possible?"

"I really hope not." Simon said. "Speaking of, where are our angels?"

Sam pulled back from the door, seemingly more collected now. "It'll take them awhile. If any croatoans came through then we've got to get these people to safety."

"What about Dean?" Isabelle asked.

Sam paused, swallowing and he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't answer. Ellen eyed him before she turned to the others. Sam cleared his throat. 

"This dorm will have emergency exits. If we get everyone still here back to their rooms they might have a chance-"

"Might?" Alec asked. 

Sam nodded. "The way the locks on these doors work. Everyone should have a personal key card. That should slow down those croats. So we just need to get everybody upstairs." 

"Easier said than done, I just know it." Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Alec and I can cover you." 

Alec nodded. "Just hurry. My arrows aren't unlimited."

"You got it." Jo said. "Me and Mom can heard the students upstairs."

"So Sam and I fight the croats?" Simon asked.

"That's the plan." Ellen said. 

With that, they made their way downstairs. Screams rose up to meet them as they hit the main floor. The group of students clustered together, hiding behind the large visitors desk. The attendant shrieked when a single croatoan broke off from the pack racing down the street to slam itself at the glass doors. A few more followed suit, slamming their heads into the glass until it cracked. 

Sam brought up the rear, pulling out his gun. "Get ready."

Jo and Ellen gathered the students to them. One of the girls sniffled, clutching on Ellen's arm. 

"We need you to get your key cards." Ellen asked. "We're taking you back to your rooms."

Students started shouting and crying. One young man spoke up.

"A lot of the room keys got demagnetized. I think only a few work now."

"Where's the closest one?" Ellen asked. 

The man frowned. "Uh...damn...I think it's on the eighth floor." 

"Where's the key?"

The attendant looked up. "I have it. It's at the desk." she handed it to Jo, who was closer to her.

"What are you names?" Jo asked.

"Sally." The attendant said. "Those two girls are Gina and Padme."

"I'm Todd." the first young man said. "The others are David, Sven, Barry, Mike, Jason, Reese, and Jamie." 

"Nice to meet you." Simon said. 

"Hurry." Sam replied. 

"This way." Ellen said. 

Just as the two women began to lead the students out, the glass gave and the croatoans began pouring out. Panic broke out and the students raced out in all directions in an attempt to escape. Jo and Ellen tried to corral them and Sam and Simon surged forward to meet the croats. One of them leapt onto David, biting at his neck and he collapsed with a scream as croats dog piled him. 

Sam shot at them, hitting about three of the monsters before having to pull back. A wave of croatoans advanced and Sam pulled the trigger, only for an empty click to answer him. His eyes widened. Another scream wrent through the air. Out of the corner of Sam's eye he saw Jo and Ellen pulling three of the students behind them, away from the advancing croats as a fourth student tried to get around them to his rescuers. 

A croat tackled Sam, scattering his gun out of his hands. It tried to bite him, leaning all of its weight on top of him. Sam threw his hands up, pushing at its chest to no avail. Rotting teeth inches from his cheeks. Simon dashed forward, prying the croat off of Sam. It whirled on Simon, snarling as it charged him. The moment its knarled hands grasped him, a sudden force rose up to meet the monster, shoving it back. The croat was flung three hundred feet, crashing back and hitting a sofa. It growled, crumpled on the cushions. 

"Huh." Simon pulled Sam back up to his feet. "Here." he handed Sam back his gun.

"Thanks." 

Simon nodded, stepping in between Sam and the rush of croats as the man reloaded his gun. He fired at the croats closest to him. 

"Help Ellen and Jo." he said.

"Got it." Simon called.

Simon sprinted to their side, throwing up his hands as attacking croats ran to him. One shoved him, only for it to be shoved back, flung into the group of its fellows. The fourth student ran to Jo's outstretched hand. She tugged him behind her and together they moved forward to the corridor. An opening yawned from where Ellen's group was and the front doors. Sam caught a flash of movement beyond the broken glass. Gabriel. 

"Go on without me." Sam shouted.

Simon and Jo turned around to gape at him.

"Like hell."

"What?"

Both shouted at the same time. Sam pointed to the doors. 

"Barricade the doors behind me. I have an idea."

Sam raced forward, shooting any croat that came in his way as he went outside. He heard more than saw Simon shove the furniture against the doors. He made it to Clary's truck before three pairs of hands grabbed his rams and legs. Sam swung his shotgun out like a club. The butt of the gun cracked against the monster's jaw. It staggered back only for another to take its place. It screeched, lunging at Sam. A hand shot out, pulling the croat back. 

"Sammy, what at you doing out here?"

"Saving your ass." Sam shot the croat Gabriel held. It collapsed at the archangel's feet. "Dean's still trapped." 

"I figured." Gabriel eyed the remaining croats as Anna and Cas dispatched them. "There's more coming from the opposite direction; we'll be pinned down in a few minutes." he said. 

"What about Adam?" Sam asked. 

Sam reloaded as Anna stabbed the nearest croatoan with an angel blade. Cas stuck close to her, slashing back a trio of the monsters. He turned to stare at Sam. 

"And Dean?" 

Sam scowled. "I have an idea." He rattled off his plan, nodding as Gabriel whistled. 

"Well that's-"

All three angels froze and something in Sam trembled. As if from far away, something was screaming-Sam shook his head. Anna and Cas shared looks of shock. 

"Gabriel-"

Gabriel nodded.

Sam fired off another shot as the angels stopped moving. "What's going on?"

Anna whirled around, eyes wide. A croatoan raced to her but she dispatched it without a backward glance. Staring down Castiel, she raised her blade. 

"Did you feel that?" Anna asked.

Castiel shook. "Yes."

"Then we need to leave-"

"No." 

"Castiel-"

"I won't leave Dean!"

Anna blinked. Behind them, Sam and Gabriel exchanged looks. 

"What's happening?" Sam asked, voice tight.

"Lucifer. Big bro is trying to summon Death." Gabriel's voice was quieter than Sam had ever heard it. "That's-he's-"

"Go." Sam said. "We can take care of this."

"Sam." Anna's voice shook. 

"He's right." Cas glowered at Anna. "We can handle this. Come back when the situation presents itself." 

Anna and Cas stared at each other. Sam wasn't sure what the full context was, but Anna's gaze was more calculating than Cas's, who was giving her a determined stare. 

"Alright but I'm taking the others with me."

Cas nodded. "Good luck."

"And to you as well."

Anna disappeared. Gabriel rose an eyebrow but said nothing as Cas got into the driver's seat of the truck. Sam fished out a sharpie out of the glove compartment and scribbled hasty sigils all over the truck. He clambered into the passenger seat as Gabriel hopped into the truck bed. 

__________________________________________________________________

The clearing exploded with movement. The reapers tried to avoid the bouts of fighting. Jace felt the familiar thrum and pull of battle. His remaining seraph blade clenched in his hand. A demon sprinted past him and Jace was about to give chase but Tessa yanked him back. 

"Wait."

"Why?"

Tessa inclined her head. Demons were clustering together, silent. Jace frowned. He wasn't sure if it was because of Tessa's presence of his own new found awareness, but he had an easier time of identifying demons. Said demons hurried past them. Jace held up his blade.

"Follow me."

Tessa rolled her eyes but said nothing as they moved forward, keeping their distance from the other demons. A sharp, guttural scream echoed across the field. Jace bolted forward as the sounds of combat reached him. He didn't care if Tessa was following him or not. There was a hum in the air. His seraph blade was trembling in his hand. 

Jace shuddered. Angels. Angels and demons doing battle in a farmer's field. The crowd pressed in on him. A demon bumped into his shoulder and Jace swiveled to stab downward. His blade caught the demon in the shoulder and blood spurted around the wound. Snarling, the demon slammed him to the ground, ripping itself free from Jace's weapon. Before it could deliver the finishing blow, an angel bent down and stabbed the demon in the throat. It collapsed on top of Jace, gurgling as it died. The angel moved away without a word. Jace caught movement at the corner of his eye. Flame red hair.

Jace sat up, shoving the demon's body off of him. It rolled onto its side like an old sausage. He weaved through the crowd, unable to go any faster as opponents tore through each other. Jace growled, straining forward to catch another glimpse of red hair and he was about to shout-

Screams drowned out his voice. He could see why up ahead. In the clearing, piles of dirt lying beside deep pits of freshly dug earth. Demons were holding sobbing women and children as they were stabbed one by one. Mundanes. The non-possessed townspeople were now being thrown into the mass grave. One woman screamed out for her child before being stabbed and dumped into the grave. Her child shrieked before it was her turn. 

A lone figure observed these precedings. Jace's heart clenched. A sharp cut of a figure. Lucifer wearing his father. Lucifer turned and Jace could have sworn they made eye contact. He shuddered. The blaze of red hair entered his vision again. Jace frowned. It wasn't Clary. She strode toward Lucifer all the same. Lucifer smiled at her approach.

"Just in time sister. That was the last of them." 

He raised a hand. The angel took a step back but it was the angels behind her that were struck down. Their bodies collapsed onto the ground as more angels began to surround Lucifer. 

"I'd prefer not to do this but-"

"Go!" The redheaded angel shouted. 

Lucifer 'tsked' and the remaining angels disappeared. The redhead angel stood firm. Neither of them moved, staring at one another. When Lucifer next spoke, his voice had a careful slowness to it. As though he were trying to keep a frightened animal still. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me." 

"Wait-"

Lucifer began chanting just as the female angel dived forward. The demons repeated the chant. Jace shuddered, feet frozen to the spot as he watched the ground crack. The demons spasm-ed, light crackling from within their bodies, and illuminating them from the inside out. Within moments each and every one of them collapsed to the ground, hosts dead. 

Blackness seeped out from the cracks just as the redheaded angel fell at Lucifer's feet. She froze but Lucifer kept his attention on the scene before him. Something brushed Jace's shoulder. He jumped, twisting around to see Tessa by his side. She said nothing, gaze fixed forward. Jace stared as a...shape twisted through the blackness, gaining substance, and he could have sworn he saw a hand...

The longer he stared, the more his eyes began to hurt. His vision shorted out, as if it couldn't see past the edges of the thing. Teeth chattering as tears streamed down his face; lumps of something were bending out of shape, as if pulling the light into itself. Jace shook all over, rolling himself onto the grass and retching. Tessa put a hand on his shoulder but he couldn't look at her any more than he could look at the thing unfurling in front of them. He heard Lucifer's voice ringing out through the field. 

"How nice to finally see you again, Death."

_______________________________________________________

"Ok, just remember to press the gas-"

"I know."

The truck hovered over the roof of the dorm, engine idling.  
______________________________________________________________

Dean stared at Adam. The latter was still seated on the couch, staring up at the former. Wariness in the younger man's gaze. It was almost reflected back at him but before Dean could speak, Adam beat him to the punch.

"The angels told me about you-"

"Did they?" Dean. "Let me guess. I'm a liar and bad things'll happen if you listen to me, or hell, even know me."

"Something like that." Adam's smirk was brief and he sobered. "Look, I really don't want to be here either but I don't have a choice."

"Yes, yes you do." Dean said. "I get that we don't know each other and you got no reason to trust me-"

"Yeah I don't-"

Dean held up his hands. "Just hear me out. The angels are using you to get to me. Now, I don't know what they promised you, but I swear, if you let me help you, I can get you out of here and then we can go our separate ways if that's what you want."

Adam said nothing, eyes glazing over for a moment. Dean swallowed, stance still stiff as he stared around the room. They were alone as far as he knew. Dean suppressed a shudder and Adam spoke again. 

"I want to see my mom." 

Dean nodded. "Ok." his voice was soft. "I'll see what I can do."

"The angels want a yes-"

"That we do." A voice cut in.

Dean flinched. Two angels in nondescript black suits appeared. One was blond and the other had black hair. Each wore an identical smirk. Sahaquiel and Armisael. 

"How many of you dicks are floating around?" Dean growled. 

"Enough." Sahaquiel replied. "All that matters is you-"

"Both." Armisael said. "A yes is needed."

Adam's eyes narrowed. "Guess you guys over sold me as a one true vessel huh?"

"You are-"

Adam scoffed, interupting Sahaquiel, whose own features twisted at the young man's tone. The angel advanced and Dean shot forward, getting in between the two. Sahaquiel's expression smoothed over. 

"Yes."

Armisael blinked as if he had been submerged in water and still hadn't quite got the water out of his face. Dean stared up at him, a slight waver in his voice. 

"If you bring Adam's mom back and leave them in peace, then I'll do it. I'll say yes to Michael. Hell, call him down here if you want, see what he thinks about this whole thing."

Sahaquiel and Armisael exchanged looks. Each had a brief smile as they nodded in unison. 

"I think that can be arranged." Armisael said. "Just sit tight."

Sahaquiel began to chant in Enochian. Dean took a shaky breath and Adam spared him a sharp glance. 

"It's gonna be ok." Dean said. 

A harsh whine cut off Adam's reply. Dean and Adam covered their ears, the whine getting louder. Cracks formed in the walls as light shone from above. Adam screamed, dropping to his knees. Dean staggered to his side. Dean squinted, light searing behind his eyelids. Beneath the high pitch static was a whisper that resonated within Dean's chest. He tried to get a lungful of air but the stench of ozone was overpowering and familiar. Dean shuddered at the unexpected strain of longing that shot through him as he felt Michael draw near. 

An engine roared and Dean looked up in time to see Clary's pick up truck crash through the ceiling. Dean dived out of the way, tackling Adam to the floor. Sahaqiuel and Armisael's voices sounded far away, screaming in rage. Debris flew outward from the truck. A chunk of the ceiling his Sahaquiel square in the chest. He stumbled back as Armisael fumbled for his seraph blade. 

The truck landed on top of Armisael, angel blade soaring out of his hands and landing in the sink. The wheels revved, spinning on top of Armisael's chest. Sahaquiel roared, racing forward but a hand reached out from the passenger side of the truck cab, slamming onto the hood of the car. The sigils glow was brief. 

"Get in!" 

The light from above wavered as Sahaquiel and Armisael disappeared. Dean and Adam got to their feet. Dean, still ducked down, managed to clamber inside the truck bed. Adam right on his heels. Michael's light grew brighter, almost to match the shout that was certainly behind the high pitched whine.

"Dean!" 

Adam sounded close to his ears. Dean stretched out his hand, fingers struggling to find his. The engine revved. A body pressed against his and it took Dean a moment to figure out that Gabriel was holding onto his shoulders. He was pulling Dean back. Gabriel shouted and the light grew brighter. The truck shot forward and Dean skidded backwards, back slamming into the back of the cab. Fingers slipped away from his hand and he was bereft. 

The truck barreled through the kitchenette and breaking down the door. Eyes streaming, Dean clutched at the sides of the truck bed. The truck jolted forward and Dean gritted his teeth as they raced down the corridor. The light faded and the ringing in his ears faded just in time for Dean to see them drive down a flight of stairs. Speeding up, the wheels skimmed the stairs. 

"Jesus!" Dean yelled. 

He caught a glimpse of Alec and Isabelle on separate stairwells. Isabelle higher up than Alec, who shot at croats racing below them. The horn blared and Dean peered through the glass to see that the driver was Cas. Dean did a double take, but before he could comment, Isabelle shouted to Alec. Alec looked down to where she was pointing, eyes wide. He nodded. 

Alec shot his final arrow into the face of a croatoan that had gotten too close to Jo. The Harvelle's and Simon were still at the foot of the stairs by the base of the building. Alec waved to get Cas's attention and then put his feet on top of stair's rails. He balanced himself on the railing. He splayed out his arms but kept still. Isabelle uncurled her whip just as Cas drove beneath Alec. Isabelle's whip shot out as Alec held up his hands, catching the whip. Pushing off the railing, he swung through the air. When the truck bed was directly underneath him, he let go of the whip and tumbled into the back with Dean. Dean gaped at him.

"Hello." Alec said. "Fancy seeing you here." After a few moments of Dean's silence, he sobered. "Sorry, that was terrible."

Dean just shook his head. A minute later, Isabelle dropped in. Her grin was a touch feral. Dean nodded. The truck sped up, hitting the main floor. The Harvelle's and the students raced to catch up. Cas swerved, fishtailing for just a second before coming in between the Harvelle's and the croats. Ellen and Jo led the remaining students in the truck bed before climbing in back. Simon darted forward, but not in time to escape the rest of the croats. 

"Go, hurry." Simon shouted. 

Cas twisted the steering wheel in response, turning the car around. Ellen, Jo, and Sam shot at the monsters swarming the car. A few were held at bay as Simon tried to escape. Isabelle's whip shot out to decapitate the croatoan closest to Simon as Cas gunned the engine. Truck shot forward and Simon raced to catch up. Half a dozen croats pounced on Simon and a second later they were flung back just as Cas drove through a window. Everyone ducked as shards of glass flew everywhere. Simon climbed out of the window, sprinting after the truck, croatoans right behind him. Jo crawled forward, stretching out her arms as Simon picked up speed. 

Simon put in another burst of speed, feet pushing against the asphalt and he jumped. He shot forward, sneakers skimming over the the metal bed. The truck hit a speed bump and Simon tumbled into Jo's arms. The screams of the croatoans faint as they out ran their pursuers. Sam leaned over to Cas. 

"Take a turn over here."

Cas took the requisite turn and Dean rapped on the glass from the cab's rear window. Sam slid it open and Dean peered inside.

"You crazy sons of bitches." he said. "How in the hell-" he cut himself off. 

"There are gears." Cas said, voice deadpan. 

Dean stared at him for a moment, catching the faint twist of Cas's lips as he shared a brief smile. Despite himself, or maybe that smile triggered it, but Dean burst out laughing in a surprised bark before it transformed into slightly maniacal guffaws. Sam stared back and forth between the two. He didn't miss the way Cas's eyes shined at the sight of Dean laughing and Sam couldn't help smiling. 

"Dude." Dean said. 

Simon frowned. "What's so funny?"

He finally eased himself back from Jo and both of them stared at the cab's interior. Dean burst out laughing all over again.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jace hid next to Tessa behind the bushes. He shook all over Death stood beside Lucifer. A shifting mass that seemed to vibrate with energy despite not moving. Something that could see him despite its undivided attention on Lucifer. The archangel kept still, glaring down at the female angel. Even at this angle, Jace could see that the amused smile didn't match the cold eyes. The female angel didn't move, red hair tangled about her shoulders. Her pinched expression set out like a beacon. 

Lucifer jerked his head in her direction. "Take care of her."

Death stepped forward. It seemed to glide, yet the grass withered at its touch. Jace gagged. Long appendages, too...other to be limbs, too many to count. It reached for the angel, who tried to push herself back. Arms shaking, she tried to stand but she could get away fast enough-

"Just kidding." Lucifer said.

The spindly shadows moved back, curling in on each other. It leaned away from her and she eyed it without speaking. Lucifer bent down to her level.

"I was hoping you could pass a message onto Sam for me." When she didn't reply, he continued. "Tell him, that I will be waiting for him in Detroit."

She bared her teeth and Lucifer laughed, but without warning she disappeared. Lucifer slowly stood up, humming a little to himself. 

"Now, what shall I do with you two?"

Jace shot forward, rolling into grass into he landed in a heap at Lucifer's feet. Tessa shrieked as she psychically manhandled in the same manner as Jace, until she too collapsed in front of the devil. Valentine's face sneered down at them, lips manipulated to twist and curl in a way that never seemed able to do when he father had full control over his own body. Jace shivered, unable to spit defiance when his teeth were chattering to hard to move. 

Death shifted and Jace couldn't scream. It walked forward without moving, mass rippling into features. It was like watching something age and regress back and forth. A head was forming. This time Jace did scream. Lucifer gave a little chuckle as Jace's eyes watered at the sight of new found limbs and eyes. It regarded him with a kind of clinical distaste. Suddenly Death appeared in the shape of a man. A thin, weathered man in black. When he spoke he voice was a soft as thunder. 

"I may have a suggestion."

____________________________________________________________

It was night and they had dropped off the student survivors at a safe zone two states away. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and their whispers. Not a croatoan to be heard. 

"So the angels have Adam and Gabriel?" Ellen asked. 

"Adam probably." Sam said and he ran a hand through his hair. "Not too sure about Gabriel, but..." he sighed. "He's alright. He's got to be." The last part seemed to be meant only for himself. 

Dean frowned. "Doesn't changed the fact that we failed." 

"Dean." Cas turned to look at him. "Don't give into despair."

Dean snorted but before he could reply, Anna appeared in front of them. Simon was the only one who jumped. His eyes widened when he took in her bedraggled appearance. Her hair was in absolute tangles, framing the angry bruises all over her face. The blood on her clothes was still fresh. 

"Lucifer." she panted. "Lucifer freed Death."

Everyone stilled, silent as she elaborated and it continued to stay silent long after she finished. Methodically, Ellen and Jo began repacking the first aid and the rest of the supplies. Simon said nothing, trembling as he waited for Dean reload his gun and climb into the driver's seat. His face was blank and not even Sam approached him. His voice was quiet. 

"We're leaving now." 

Everyone got back into the truck. Dean turned onto a two lane road and they drove down into the dark.  
_____________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	28. The overlapping world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: A small passage from from episode 4x22 can be found. Anything you would recognize doesn't belong to me.   
>  Warnings: Character death, some intense/violent situations, and some creepy scenes.   
>  Word Count: 11,776  
>  AN: Hope it was worth the wait. So here's a holiday present. Hope it's a safe and happy one. As always, enjoy!

Crickets chirped in the balmy summer night. The air smelled of rain. Stars shone up above. Tessa by his side. That didn't matter. He couldn't move. What stood before him was-

"A boy?"

He flinched.

Lucifer sneered up at him, his features too soft, somehow, as if mutating. Red blisters and burns spreading all along his face. Small bubbling welts gave a fetid kind of plump to his lips. There was a slight tremble in his arms when he opened them wide for Jace. 

"Ah yes, I know you." he said.

Lucifer pinned him with his gaze and as if, he found what he was looking for, smiled. Jace tried to hold Lucifer's gaze but the creature, had now turned away from him with a shrug. 

"He's all yours." Lucifer said.

The devil disappeared without a trace. 

The being known as Death stood before him in the shape of a man. Death stared down at him and Jace shrank back, dropping his gaze. Mind whirling, until all he could recall was-Jace looked up to see Death turn as if to leave-

"Wait!"

Jace stumbled, feet tripping as they carried him forward. Arms windmilled, hands outstretched, and his fingers brushed Death's coat. Jace's whole body went cold and damp, chills pervading through him. He looked down and caught a glimpse of a yawning chasm. Silence. Jace shut his eyes tight. 

When Jace opened his eyes, he stumbled back. Gaping at the way his senses returned to him. They were in a diner. Jace glanced back and forth over his shoulder. Nothing was attacking him and for all intents and purposes, this looked to be a mundane place. No downworlders to be found. At the prickling along the back of his neck, he turned. 

Death sat on the right side of a booth, with Tessa on His left. Jace stood before them. Waitstaff bustled around, taking orders and refills patrons' glasses. Only a few tables were unoccupied. A ceiling fan swirled overhead, cool air ghosting through Jace's hair. Ambient music played from hidden speakers. Despite standing next to a booth, no one paid him any attention. In fact, a young waitress navigated past him to get to Death and take his order. 

"Sit." Death said.

Jace blinked. He glanced at the waitress, who had already turned on her heel to call the order. Tessa cleared her throat. Jace sat. He stayed on the outer seat next to Tessa. A few minutes later, the waitress reappeared and set down a pan of deep dish pizza, three plates, cutlery, and glasses. 

Death began to serve Himself and Tessa waited until He had gotten a slice before taking a sip of water. Death stared at him as He cut into his pizza. Jace flashed back to see that shapeless, writhing mass-that was as far as his mind allowed him to see before the memory snapped like a rubber band and he saw Death as a man again. A thin man eating pizza. Jace turned his thoughts back to red hair. 

"Jonathan Morganstern."

His voice was softer than Jace anticipated but he jumped all the same. Jace swallowed back the nausea. Death frowned.

"Or is it...Jace?" When Jace didn't speak, Death tutted. "Well, what do you call yourself, little Nephilim?" 

Jace cleared his throat. "Er...yeah. Yeah, my name is Jace."

Death didn't blink. "Well then, Jace, you demanded to speak to me. So speak."

"Er. Right." Jace lowered his gaze and straightened his back. He didn't look up. "I want to know if you had taken-reaped-a girl name Clarissa Morgenstern. Or, Clary-"

"Fray." Death sighed. "Yes, I am aware. I'm curious as to why you think you have the right to ask me that." He said. 

Jace swallowed, the lump in his throat choking him. He took a swig of water as he tried to keep his gaze on Death. He seemed willing enough to wait for Jace to find his voice. 

"I-I know that I'm a trouble maker-" Death raised an eyebrow. "That I was brought back and that can...disrupt things." Jace cleared his throat again. "I am still Nephilim-that matters-and we pay our debts. So I have a proposition for you. Make me a reaper."

Tessa paused mid drink as Death continued to slice his pizza with his knife. He paused, letting his cutlery scrape against each other. The sound was so faint, that Jace could believe he imagined it. Shivers racked his spine. For a moment, Jace thought Death might strike him. The being's face was impassive but Jace couldn't help the sensation not unlike falling from a great height. Death leaned forward and Jace jerked back. Tessa and Death exchanged looks. Jace sucked in a breath. They still still hadn't turned back to pay attention to Jace. He kept still as they stared at each other for a beat longer before regarding Jace. 

"This is not a game." Death said. 

Despite himself, Jace bristled. "I know, but I'm willing to pay my debt. If I can be of use even better."

"Of use." Death echoed. "Out of all the creatures, I can think of, Nephilim are the least likely to be of use. Not because they weren't made by God but by a rather uppity angel, but because this world hasn't been made a better place for it. A world, mind you, that is relatively young and that will run its course like any other thing in this universe. Well, any other but me." Yet you claim to be relevant to one such as me?"

Jace shifted in his seat, saying nothing, as it was Tessa who spoke next. 

"Well, there is a ritual..." she eyed Death. At his nod, she continued. "But, it's very difficult and very few succeed." she said. 

Death tucked into his pizza as Jace mulled over her words. Jace suddenly smirked, feeling like his old self again.

"I'll do it and I have an idea."

Death hmm'd, not looking up from his plate.

"We can summon that Crowley demon here and make him give you your scythe back." he said.

"Due to Lucifer's spell, interfering directly will not work." He said. 

"So, I'll summon him-"

"How will you bargain with him when you have nothing to bargain with?" Death asked. "I will not be set upon him in exchange for a weapon that I will not be using."

"No, I mean-" Jace rubbed his temple. "I just meant that he can give the scythe to-" Death raised an eyebrow. "To anyone you want." Jace said. "I'll think of something." 

Death said nothing. Instead, he turned to Tessa. She shrugged.

"Do you know how to summon him?" she asked. 

Jace shrugged. "You can show me the basics." he said. "Please?" he tacked on after a moment. "After that, I'll do the ritual." 

Tessa nodded. "Alright."

Jace smiled. He put his and Tessa's plates and cutlery into the far corner of the table as Tessa pulled a marker out of her jacket, whispering instructions to him as he prepared the summoning. The Latin was brief and Jace's pronunciation accurate. Nothing happened. Tessa shrugged and Jace's shoulders slumped. No one said anything as Jace let the diner noise wash over him. The chatter of the patrons seemed far too cheerful to his ears; even the tinny jingle of the door's greeting bell seemed to mock him. He only looked up in time to see a familiar figure stride to the table.

"Well this is unexpected." Crowley said. He stared at Death with wide eyes. "So I take it this isn't a social call. I suppose you want to know where I've put the scythe-"

"I know where it is." Death cut in. He pointed his knife at Jace as he helped Himself to another slice. "He has a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Crowley stared at Jace. "You want a deal do you?"

"Yeah. A trade. You'll give the scythe to someone who can use it against the devil and they'll decide what payment to give you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Someone?" he stared at Death, who didn't bother to look in the demon's direction. Crowley soldiered on. "Give the scythe to you, essentially for free-"

"Look, whoever gets it has to pay a price. It's up to them what to pay-"

"Them?" Crowley echoed. 

"Whoever's left." Jace said. "Someone has to be..." his voice trailed off.

Jace ignored the way Crowley was staring at him. He wasn't sure what the expression was. It was too calculating to be pity, but the brief confusion made a part of Jace meanly pleased. Jace waited for it to clear and then it was replace by a smirk. Jace bristled and Crowley nodded to himself.

"How about we trade on something else?" Crowley held up a hand. "I've got it. Death's coordinates." His eyes gleamed. "That could come in very handy." he said. A speculative look in his eyes as he stared at Jace, and understanding came into his features. "Yes let's do that. Should be fun."

Jace snorted. "Remember to uphold your end of the bargain, demon."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Yes yes yes, I promise."

"Speaking of bargains...now it's your turn, Jace." Death said.

Crowley perked up. "Oh?"

Jace glared at Crowley. "A ritual."

Crowley turned to Death. "Mind if I take a gander?"

Death leveled an impassive stare at the Demon. He took a bite of his pizza. Crowley blinked, looking for all the world as if he was regretting his request, when Death finished his slice and pushed his plate away. 

"If you insist." Death said. He appraised Jace. "We are about to begin. If you have changed your mind, now's the time to say so."

Jace shook his head. "I'm doing this."

"Very well."

Death stood up, so smooth and silent that it appeared like he hadn't moved at all and had always been standing. Tessa by his side. Death closed his eyes and customers and staff alike fell to the floor, dead. Crowley stepped back, heels almost touching a waitress's wrist. Jace stared at the dead littering the ground. There just as haphazardly placed as the now pushed back tables and chairs. Death saw Jace's expression and replied. 

"The price of admission." 

Death stood at a cleared space and tapped his cane onto the ground. At once a sigil appeared on the ground, a complex array of intersecting lines. There were twelve outer points, with five inner points within the circle. At once Tessa went to each point and placed down a tarot card. Jace frowned. Tarot cards were something he normally associated with hedge-witches, not reapers. Tessa caught his look. 

"It's to help you focus." she said. 

"Come here." Death said.

Jace walked forward to Death's outstretched hands. Jace's hands hovered over Death's upturned palms for but a minute until Death snatched them. Jace gasped, head flung back and out of his control. Cold flooding through his body, pain lancing along his limbs. Jace sagged; the only thing keeping him upright was Death. Sudden heat made him double over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his rune scars light up as if they were being re-marked, until his marks began to glow. Then one by one, they began to run and bleed, like ink being washed away with water. Jace opened his mouth but no scream came out. 

Death withdrew his hands and Jace slumped. He looked around. Colors seemed different, duller. As did the rest of his senses. He stared up at Death. 

"What did you do to me?" Jace asked.

"You didn't need them anymore." Death said. 

Crowley gave a small bark of laughter at Jace's expression. Jace turned to glare at him, but the demon was unaffected by it. Crowley addressed Death.

"Oh coming was worth it, just to see that. Alright, you'll get your coordinates. I'll even escort Death to them myself. We can go right now." He turned to Death. "That is, if you are still occupied?"

"No. I am ready. Tessa can take it from here."

At this, Tessa nodded. Death regarded Jace for a moment. Tessa began to chant in a language that Jace had never heard before, words wrapping around Jace like a second skin. It was all too brief for Jace to comment on.

"Good luck, you'll need it."

"Shall we?" Crowley asked.

With that, Death and Crowley disappeared. Tessa stared at Jace.

"For this ritual, you are going to leave your body and travel through the various afterlives of the dead. Only when you pass each test in each realm, can you pass on to the next one. This is a journey of the soul. Because of this, your body will begin to die-so there is a time limit. It's important that you stay focused. Any slip in attention could leave you stranded in one of the afterlives. Any questions?"

Jace frowned. "I think I got it."

"Good."

Tessa pushed him. Jace's body was relaxed, so it offered no resistance to help prevent him from falling, and he slammed into the ground. His vision shorted out, going dark at the corners. His last clear picture was of Tessa standing over him, watching with a neutral gaze. Then his senses left him.

________________________________________________  
"Hello gents."

Crowley appeared in Bobby's living room. The six hunters all went for their guns as the demon held up his hands. Cas, Magnus, and the Lightwoods glowered at him, weapons at the ready. Crowley held up his hands. 

"Easy, easy. I come bearing gifts." Crowley said.

Bobby cocked his shotgun. "We ain't buying."

"Not even if it's for stopping the devil-"

"You pitched that before." Dean snapped. "You gave us the colt and it didn't work-"

"Honest mistake that was." Crowley said. "I want him dead just as much as you do."

"Prove it." Isabelle said.

He spared her a glance, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Because Death is on my side, so to speak. I have coordinates to his location. I can even take you to him." 

"What's the catch?" Ellen asked. 

Before Crowley could reply, Alec spoke up.

"Even if there wasn't any, I highly doubt that Death would just give us his ring." he said. 

"What could even harm Death?" Isabelle asked.

"He does have a weapon-" Cas replied. "Although our chances of success without it would be very slim-"

"So is there even a point of getting Death's ring?" Sam asked.

"Would you all listen to me?" Crowley sighed. "Look, I have a business opportunity-"

"The price?" Magnus spoke up, staring at Crowley. "You are striking a bargain correct? Name your price."

Crowley scratched the back of his head with an exaggerated carelessness. "Funny that. The price is something you'll have to name yourselves." He waved his hands at them. "Discuss."

Resounding glowers were all he got in return. That didn't seem to phase him however as he moved to grab a dusty whiskey glass and grabbed a bottle of Jack, and fixed himself a drink. Bobby glowered as Crowley raised his hand in a toast to him. 

"We truly decide what to pay you?" Cas asked. "That is suspicious."

"He's right, what's in this for you?" Sam asked. 

Crowley shrugged. "Take it or leave it, but I'm the best lead you've got." He took a swig of his drink. "So how about it?"

The discussion, while not especially loud, was lengthy. Alec and Isabelle debated with the necessity of allying with Crowley to get the last ring. Isabelle argued in favor, with Alec against. Cas stayed silent as Jo, Ellen, and Dean listed off the various things that could be realistically bartered. Sam appeared deep in thought as Magnus and Bobby compared the usefulness of their respective prices. Crowley fixed himself another drink. Finally, Magnus cleared his throat.

"I'll pay the price." he said. 

The conversations stopped. Alec gaped at Magnus. Crowley set down his drink on the bookshelf. He smiled.

"Let's get down to brass tacks then. What are you offering?"

"Half my magic."

"Magnus." Alec shuddered.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Only half?"

"I'm the High Warlock of Brooklyn. My power is such that half of it should be more than enough." 

"Then let's get started."

Magnus took out a pen knife from his pocket, the blade inscribe with a Cthoinian script. He gestured for Crowley to come closer with his free hands. As Crowley did so, Magnus set the blade to his arm. A thin line of blood ran down his arm and Crowely squeezed Magnus's hand. The warlock's eyes squeezed tight as he muttered under his breath. In response, the veins in his arms stood out, and began to gleam. 

It was as though they were back lit by a blue light. Crowley used his free hand to fish a vial out of his pocket. He uncorked the stopper and pressed the glass to Magnus's wound. The warlock's blood was unusually bright as it dribbled into the vial. The vial was at the half way mark of full, his veins began to dull until they returned to normal. Magnus pulled back and Crowley stoppered the vial. 

"I can't believe he did that." Alec said.

"Better that than selling his soul." Dean said. 

"You don't understand." Alec said, "A warlock's magic is a part of them."

Dean winced. Alec stared at Magnus. The blood inside the vial dried, giving way to a smoky blue substance swirling within the glass. Crowley pocketed his prize. 

"Well?" Sam asked, wide eyed and impatient.

"Paper?" Crowley pointed to Bobby's desk. 

Bobby pulled out a pen and paper from a desk drawer and Crowley snatched them up, scribbling. Bobby leaned over the demon's shoulder, and his eyes widened. He let out a few choice curse words before asking-  
"Is that what I think it is?"

Crowley straightened up. "Now, without further ado, Death."

_______________________________________________________

Jace opened his eyes. The ground was hard and cold. He sat up, wincing and rubbing his elbows. His whole body felt stiff. His breath came out in puffs of air. Shivering, he squinted at his surroundings. In the dim light, he could make out chains hanging from the ceiling. Jace frowned. The Silent City's prison cells flashed in his mind. Shivering, he stood up. The room small and circular, was stained in thick and long streaks. The only exit was a set of stairs three feet in front of him. Jace gave a little huff of laughter.

"Easy is the descent."

Jace walked down. Sounds, which had been muffled before, now became louder. He flinched as a loud scream rent through the air. He couldn't see the owner of the scream. Jace realized that he didn't have a weapon. Jace got to the landing at the foot of the stairs when three pairs of arms grabbed him. Jace screamed. Laughter ripped into his ears and he twisted his head, trying to get away. More bodies mobbed him, hands scratching his face and neck. 

He froze. The people scrabbling at his body were familiar faces. Downworlders, The Lightwoods, Luke, the Inquisitor, his father, and Clary. They carried him, ignoring his protests as he was led and then slammed down on a stone slab. They moved back and Jace tried to spring up, leaping to defend himself. However, the moment he tried, he was yanked back down as if he hit an invisible wall. Struggling to no avail, Jace shouted out obscenities. Clary brayed with laughter. 

Jace turned to see her eyes flash black. Shouting, he twisted away from the not-Clary. It bared its teeth, distractedly white against swollen red gums. The teeth looked stone-like, thick enough to take a bite out of him. Not-Clary smirked, lowering her head to whisper in his ear. 

"You've been a bad boy." It snarled. "Really, just filthy. Just the way you wanted to love your sister-"

Images flooded Jace's mind. Clary sighing beneath him, hands grasping his shoulders as he moved inside her. The way her hair flashed under the light-

Not-Clary shrieked, faking an orgasmic cry. Jace flinched. She grinned at him. 

"Not bad, huh lover? Was it good for you too?"

"Stop. You're not her." Jace snapped. 

"Does that really matter?" Not-Clary's smile was slow. "You're here now."

"There's no way out." 

Jace twisted his head to see the speaker. It was Maia. Wearing the outfit she wore before she died. A plain white shirt with a sunflower decal in the center and dark, blue jeans. She glowered at him. Not-Maia gripped his shoulder. 

Another flash of memory as senses poured into him, directly into his mind. He stood inside Valentine's ship, standing beside his father, and looking down at Maia and Simon. But it wasn't his perspective. He was looking up at the scene. Chains rattled around his ankles, burning into his-her skin. Valentine stared down at her, eyes searing her in place. Jace heard his own voice from far away.

"Her. Take her."

She began to scream. Her screams were his screams. Valentine lifted her up, hoisting her up over her shoulder, like he used to do with Jace when he was little. She kept screaming for help, echoing against the walls. She beat her fists against Valentine's back. She caught a glimpse of Jace's face and terror overcame her. Heart pounding, she couldn't breathe, and she choked. Her mouth and nose ran with spit and snot. Valentine led her into a boiler room with tubs of blood lined up against the walls. He dropped her to the ground and Maia landed with a thump. She couldn't move her body as he advanced with sword in hand. Valentine took his time slicing the blade across Maia's throat. 

Pain exploded as spasms rocked her body, metal digging into her flesh. Blood clogged her nose and staining her teeth. Gurgling, she slumped as the last thing she saw in her fading vision, was Valentine leaning over her-

"I'm sorry." Jace gasped. "I tried."

"Liar." Maia snapped. 

Her lips slapped together, spitting out the word. Flecks of blood splattered onto Jace's cheeks. He choked.   
"I am dead because of you." 

Jace shuddered. 

"So am I." 

The small crowd parted to let the young werewolf Joseph through. He stood over Jace with his fists clenched at his sides. Jace frowned. Fury flashed in Joseph's face.

"You don't remember me do you?" He snorted. "Typical Nephilim. You were more interested in insulting rather than safeguarding us." 

"I-"

Joseph pressed his palm on Jace's forehead. Jace watched himself taunting the werewolves at the Hunter's Moon bar. Yet, his own voice echoed back in his ears in a faded way. The voices of the werewolves stronger in his mind. His laughter rang out, a vicious clamor of noise. As the sound replayed back to him, Jace was unable to block the noise nor the sudden slam of emotion. Rage and shame coursing through him as he watched himself flit around the wolves, throwing punches at them. 

For every slur he slung, ten were leveled back at him in thought and look. He watched himself stand on the bar. His voice rang out, echoing from where he stood. Jace clapped his hands over his ears. The words still reached him. Slurs bleeding inside of him, oozing their insidious designs. Each word struck him, pushed him back, until he was in the thick of the werewolf crowd and cringing and snarling as they were. 

The vision didn't fade. Jace was now outside the bar. Cold from the pavement seeped into his clothes as broken glass dug into his back. A figure-Meg-stood over him. Half her face in the shadows. What little he could see was of her black eyes and a wide, razor edge grin. She bent down closer and he couldn't move. Her hands snaked towards him, fingers too long as they wrapped around his neck. Spittle escaped from her gritted teeth and splattered onto his cheeks. 

His attempts to struggle didn't deter her, even as she fumbled for a knife. Pinned under her gaze, he stared up into her face. Black eyes bore into him and he stilled. There was nothing inside them, just a sharp stab of pain blossomed inside him. Jace couldn't scream, throat just managing a weak gurgle. 

A beer bottle rolled past. The sound echoed in the alleyway. As soon as Meg leaned back, he slumped; lights dimming in his eyes. Jolted out of the memory, Jace was back on the cold slab. Joseph bent down to eye level with Jace. 

"Now you know how it feels." he said. 

Jace nodded. "Yes."

He tried to sit up. The hate leveled at him set him rocking back onto the slab. He actually whimpered. Before he could voice anything else, another flash of memory overtook him. The field at Renwick's. He was surrounded by werewolves dying left and right against the forsaken ripping into them. Jace shook his head. They won this fight. The werewolves walked away from this. Jace watched as Gretel was torn apart. Jace flinched. Most of them did anyway. The only difference was that he now recognized the werewolves defending the island and Clary-trying to rescue Jocelyn-

Jace gasped. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"

Joseph, Maia, and the other werewolves pulled back to allow Clary to get to his side. Her walk was unfamiliar. An aggresive stride. She stared down at him with cold eyes, lips twitching as if trying to hold back a neutral expression. Strands of hair brushed her cheeks. Jace tried to hold her gaze.

Clary slapped him. "Don't even think about it, pervert." she snarled.

Jace swallowed. "Clary-"

"Don't." she said. "You bullied me into bed. Tried to turn me into your creation."

"When?" he asked.

Clary's face twisted. "When you became Daddy's little bitch."

Before he could answer, Clary slapped him again and he spiraled back into memory. Renwick's again. He found himself with Clary and his father. Clary and Valentine conversing. The former's earnest anger clashing with the calm manipulation of the latter. Jace heard himself pleading with Clary. 

"Come with us."

He heard the scream unvoiced coming from Clary. He flinched, but his past self was unfettered. With every heart felt word, despair grew within his sister. He wanted to shake his past self, even more so than Valentine, who only commented when spoken to. 

"Why is this so hard for you to accept?" Past-Jace railed at her.

"Because she is in love with you." Valentine said.

Clary glowered at her father, red faced and eyes glistening with unshed tears. Jace stumbled back from the force of her shame. It coursed through him, burning him from the inside out. He trembled all over, sweat breaking out-

Luke burst through the door. Jace turned away from the scene, shutting his eyes tight. A sharp lance of pain went through him and spots appeared behind his closed lids, as if he was staring into the sun. Jace twisted away and his eyes were forced open. He watched himself hold Clary down, keeping her away from Valentine and Luke. He continued to watch himself stand next to Valentine, to the point that he did nothing as his father walked through the portal. 

Jace was yanked back to that stone slab, quailing under Clary's harsh gaze. The too hot air crackled and when Clary opened her mouth, Jace felt the weight of her words. 

"Like father, like son. All you like is hurting people. Here's my theory. If your precious Clave thought it was ok to hunt down mundanes instead of downworlders, you would do it, no problem." 

Jace bowed his head and when Clary's fingers reached for him, he didn't try to escape their grasp. Lying still, he invited the memory that slammed into him. He recognized it immediately. Clary and Jace sharing the elevator at the institute, leaving for Clary and her mother's home. Now, as it did before, the conversation started. 

"I thought that mundanes couldn't handle runes?" Clary asked.

Jace shook his head. "They can't."

Clary frowned at him. "So you weren't sure if that mark you put on me would work."

He shrugged. "I was ninety percent sure."

Clary made a little humming noise and Jace turned to her, about to speak when she pulled her hand back and slapped him. He stared at her, flabbergasted. Jace put a hand to his cheek, poking at the redness her mark left. 

"What was that for?" he asked.

"The other ten percent." she snapped.

With that, the memory ended. This time, Jace held Clary's gaze as she stared down at him. Clearing his throat, he took a moment before speaking. 

"I'm sorry." he said. "That doesn't really cover it, I know. You were right. As long as I got the attention, it didn't matter to me one way or another. I was reckless and arrogant and everyone paid for it. People are dead because of me and I can't take that back. I was a bad shadowhunter and an even worse person. I don't have an excuse for not figuring that out sooner, and if I had I would have treated you-everyone-better. Too little too late, huh?"

Clary said nothing as Jace's eye stung, salty tracks running down his cheeks. At her non-response, he turned he nodded. Clary raised up her hand, arm pulled back high. Jace closed his eyes. His chest finally steady, frame limp as he waited. When no blow came, he opened his eyes. In the place of Clary, stood a woman. She wore a simple shift, a blindfold covering her eyes, and in each hand was a sword and scales. With her sword hand she pointed to the left of him and Jace followed with his gaze. An archway with a winding passageway. When he turned back around, he was alone. 

Jace eased himself off the slab, pressing his palms flat against the stone to brace himself as he stood up with a shaky exhale. Jace walked to it, legs gaining strength. As he walked underneath the archway, his vision wavered. Looking up, he thought he saw a tower looming above him. It teetered and creaked as if it would topple within moments and Jace rushed out of the archway and down the corridor. Not even the stone walls could keep out the faint screams from reaching his ears. Jace shivered. 

The corridor was narrow, his shoulders brushing against the sides of the walls. The stench of blood heavy in the air and Jace gagged. After another few hundred yards, the corridor got smaller until it became a tunnel. Forcing him on his hands and knees, he crawled forward and extended his arms out in front of him. He could feel nothing; darkness pressed into him as the tunnel became so dark, he could no longer see in front of him. Jace wiggled, his torso only getting him so far as he tried to move. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he inched along. His hands scraped the walls. Jace frowned. The walls didn't feel like stone anymore, but bark. 

A sudden lash of sound made Jace shout out. Squinting, he could just make out murky light, and he grabbed at the thick shape in front of him. His hands hit wood. Fumbling, he finally found a firm grasp on a weighty branch and pulled himself forward. The light was blocked, with only a third of it coming through. Jace pressed his face against the bark, trying to peer through the cracks but he couldn't get a decent look beyond the thick branches. The end of the tunnel was obscured by a felled tree. Jace took a moment's rest before pushing at the branches. 

No budging. Jace threw his shoulder into it, his weight attacking the mass of the wood. Cheek squashing the bark, the sharp edges of the branches scraping his nose and forehead. Jace almost got his eye poked out by a particularly sharp piece. It took him longer than he expected, but he managed to get the tree out of his way and crawled out of the tunnel. Jace concealed the opening of the tunnel, dragging the thick branches back where he found them. Jace turned around to look at his surroundings.

A muddied forest. He squinted, rubbing at his eyes. Everything seemed so...drab. Colors stayed at bled out and faded tones. Jace frowned. In fact, out of all his senses, smell was the strongest one despite its dullness. Jace stood up. The trees had minimum foliage, their bark black. Leaves of brown and orange littered the muddy ground. Murky clouds ghosted over the sky, with shafts of sunlight streaming through the trees. The sound of rushing water gentle and faraway to his ears. After a moment, Jace shrugged and headed towards the sound. 

His feet crunched over the leaves as he walked westward. A sharp, high scream cut through the air. Jace stopped dead, tilting his head. It echoed but the source seemed to be coming from-

Something heavy slammed into him, landing on top of Jace. A face full of wet leaves pressing into his face as flecks of mud splattered around his ears. Jace twisted, limbs kicking out until his foot connected with a face. The weight lifted from Jace and he scrambled to his feet. A tall, bulky man snarled at him. His clothes were dirty to the point that Jace could quite tell what he was wearing beyond the obvious jeans and jacket combination. The man was bald and covered in dirt and scars. Bulging black eyes zero'd in on Jace's face. With his lips pulled all the way back, a set of needle teeth were revealed, further distorting the face. 

"Vampire." Jace snarled.

It snarled, thick throaty laughs as it advanced. The expected warrior-calm set over Jace as he shifted into a fighting stance, keeping his hands loose at his sides. They moved at the same time, Jace feinting and the vampire dashing forward. Jace whirled away from the outstretched arms and threw a punch, missing. Vampire grinned and punching him in jaw, Jace was sent flying. Flailing, he just barely landed on his feet, leaves skittering as he tried to keep his balance. The vampire rushed again, arms gripping his shoulders as Jace was hoisted into the air. 

The vampire's mouth widened and Jace struggled harder but to no avail. There was little strength in his limbs. With a tug, he was brought closer to the vampire's mouth. Another high pitched scream. Both looked up in unison in time to see three more vampires tackle them. A tangle of limbs as Jace was dog piled into a vampiric mess. Each snarling vampire tried to grab at him and the weight of the vampires pressed Jace into the mud. Choking, Jace spun around, and wiggling out of the pile, ran. 

The vampires gave chase. Sprinting, Jace blew past them. Out of the corner of his eye, a rocky outcropping jutting to his right and taking a leaping jump, slammed into the side of it. Air forced out of his lungs and wheezing, Jace almost fell before scrabbling up the sides of the rock face. Vampire screams carried on the wind and Jace climbed to the top of the outcropping and into a indent a few feet wide. Jace moved far back inside as he could. The vampires sounded so far away and his eyes were so heavy. Jace curled up and drifted off to sleep. 

A sharp, high pitched screech shot through the air. Jace jolted awake. Squinting in the gloom, he sat up. The rocks scraped against his back and palms as he moved. He shivered in the damp that permeated the small outcropping. When those screeching cries grew farther away, Jace crawled out to greet a leaden sky. Dirt and pebbles scuttled down his feet as he descended back into the woods. Twigs cracked beneath him as he hurried forward.

He didn't know how long he walked, only that the sky above him seemed brighter despite the overcast hanging above him. Jace kept his ears pricked for the river, but he didn't hear it. He stopped when it became dark, finally hiding in a hollowed out base of a tree. Jace stayed awake all night. Small, beady eyes peered at him from the foliage and keeping still, Jace counted the pairs of eyes. He was surrounded. At least fifty. However, their numbers waned when it became lighter out, until they dissipated entirely. His limbs ached as he unwound himself into standing. Gritting his teeth, Jace swayed. Catching the branches out in front of him, he blinked away the spots in his vision. 

Jace felt unusually weak. His lightheaded-ness didn't pass even as he stumbled along. He carried on like this for another day and then another, getting weaker all the while. For the first time in his life, Jace avoided the monsters he normally would have fought. Some carried crude weapons and others used only their teeth and claws. Either way, he could not engage. He did not trust his own strength to carry him through a fight. It even grew harder to walk. By midday his stomach hurt and he leaned against a tree to be violently sick. 

He threw up until there was nothing left and he was dizzy with nausea. Jace groaned, spitting white little chips onto the ground. His teeth scattered onto the dead leaves with little thumps. Jace's eyes widened. His tongue swept around his mouth, examining the damage. The back teeth had fallen out. To top it off, his stomach gave him no relief, with a thudding pain coming in low and deep. Another wave of dizziness passed over him and he crawled into a cluster of felled trees., closing his eyes yet again. He prayed no one would find him. 

When he came to, only a foul reek gave him a warning. Wrinkling his nose, he looked down to see that he had voided his bowels all over himself. Jace blinked. His field of vision seems grainy, even for this place. Objects blurred into vague shapes. It was easier to hear at the moment. He could smell, taste, and feel the layer of grime coating him. Cold panic seeped into him and he couldn't control his shivers. Jace scoffed, face contorting further he he shifted downward to sit up. Warmth spread even wider, the squish of shit seemed to echo through the forest. Jace gagged. A howl-werewolf-called in the distance. Jace edged out of his hiding place with a groan.

An answering howl rose up and Jace's head whipped towards the sound. Jace bared his teeth as heavy footfalls thudded a few hundred feet behind him. More than one set. He be surrounded within moments if he didn't pick up the pace. Legs burning, muscles clenching and spasming in protest, he limped past the trees. Snarling shot through the air, twisting high up and mingling with each other so that it became one tremendous noise. Sight wheeling, Jace stumbled, feet skimming over the ground to hit the air. A steep drop and Jace pinwheeled down the sheer hillside. For once, he didn't land on his feet. Rocks slammed into his back and he looked up in time to see the werewolves gather at the top of the hill. 

They took their time going down and Jace got to his feet, spinning around to head into the river not five feet away from him. Water went up to his knees as he tried to wade as quick as he could. He could only see a couple hundred yards in front of it at a time. The frothing water guided him forward. A modest waterfall cascaded down a pool, its natural enclosure of rocks and moss kept a circular shape, and raised in elevation. Little eddies and pools acted as stairs to get to the waterfall and Jace climbed up them, fingers curling into claws to keep a firm grip on the wet stones. Arms straining, he pulled himself out of the outstretched grasping of the werewolves below him. Their claws raked his ankles and calves.

Water splashed his face, running down his neck. Jace choked, hands slipping until he dangled over the edge of the pool. He could only look up; the spray from the falls looming above him hum he was almost dragged back down by the monsters. For just a moment, he sagged. Jace buried his face in the crook of his elbow before hoisting himself up into the pool and landing with a dunk. Submerged, Jace flailed and then went still. Water muffled the warbling of the werewolves. Lungs fit to burst, he finally emerged, treading water. Jace swam to the base of the waterfall and managed to crawl up to the small cave behind it. 

He slumped, even as the werewolves climbed up the pools, advancing towards him. Jace's shivers racked his frame, the only movement in his otherwise limp body. Teeth chattering as the beasts came closer. They stood tall but he didn't move. Jace closed his eyes, a strange calm settling over him as he did so. 

A hand settled on his shoulder. Jace jumped, chest still as a sudden roar stretched through the air. Jace squinted before his eyes widened in shock. Beside him was a young woman wearing a sheer white dress. Brown tresses came down in waves until it rested at the small of her back. In her right, a full grown male lion growling as he stood. Jace sucked in a breath. The werewolves froze, lion's gaze fixing them in place. Jace turned back to the woman. Her placid smile stilled him.

The lion roared again and the werewolves darted back and Jace stared at them, unmoving and silent as the creatures tried to advance. When they succeeded, Jace bowed his head. At the woman's touch, he looked back up. She stroked the lion's head. Her fingers stroked his mane. The lion settled and with one arm, the woman hauled Jace to his feet and shoved him into the waterfall. Spray bombarded his shoulders and he stumbled under its weight, hands outstretched. Moving past said spray under he was in the center of the falls. His hands hit metal. Jace frowned. A slim spiral staircase stood inside the center of the waterfall. The railing followed its stairs with their wraparound frame. 

Jace grabbed the railing and hoisting himself up onto the stairs, began to climb on his hands and knees. Water sloshed against the sides and he climbed higher and higher until there was no more water, and he found himself on a pristine landing. Blinking, he could finally see unobscured. Checking his mouth, he found all his teeth where they should be. He was dry and clean. 

His surroundings were bare, white marble floor and walls. Jace peered down the landing. There was no bottom, just a never ending drop. Jace's vision tunneled as vertigo hit. There was no railing to prevent a fall. He pulled back. Turning around, he caught sight of a door, with no adorments what so ever. Jace stood up and oped it, stepping through. Spots danced along his eyesight. Not as if his own eyes were incorrect, but rather like he was staring at a TV with bad reception. The fizz in the air cleared and his surroundings changed. 

Room after room greeted him. A series of different locations all connected together in a row, yet there were no doors to seperate each one from the others. Each room was familiar to him. He knew he was what he assumed to be Heaven's hallway yet he was standing in the foyer of the New York Institute and the man standing in the center was-

"Alec!"

Alec didn't turn around. Jace went to his side, turning to face the other young man. Jace waved a hand in Alec's face, to no avail. 

"There you are. Ready?"

Both turned in unison to see another Jace walk out from their mother's study. Alec's eyes lit up, a small smile on his face, and he straightened his back. 

"Been looking for you." Alec said. "Isabelle's gone on ahead."

Jace patted his sides, feeling the weapons affixed on his person and nodded to Alec. 

"Let's go."

Jace gave a little 'hm' as he watched Alec and his past self chatter as they went to the elevator and left. The foyer was quiet again, save for the grandfather clock ticking from a hidden corner. Jace wandered further in and found himself in front of the ajar door to Maryse's study. He peeked in to see Maryse at the desk, occupied with papers and files. She was as focused as ever, hair pulled back in a proper bun as she frowned, signing papers. 

In the corner, Max was curled up in the armchair, reading a brightly colored manga. Jace's heart twisted at the sight of him. Max's face had a slight scrunch to it, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he hunkered down with his book, eyes wide as he was completely engrossed with his reading. Jace backed out of the room, tread silent as he left. The hall was long but it led to another room entirely. Now he stood in the Institute's kitchen. Watching his past self eating Christmas dinner with the Lightwoods. Music playing quietly from some out of the way corner. A woman crooning out a carol. Jace let the old conversations wash over him. Who was going to be in Idris and who wouldn't. The laughter of familiar stories and jokes.

He stayed for a little bit longer, memorizing their faces until he turned to the next doorway, to find himself somewhere else. A fight in a warehouse with the LIghtwood siblings. Another fight between himself and some forsaken. It made his heart pump just watching. While he said nothing, he did a running commentary on his technique in his mind. However, he dragged himself away. He went into a couple more memories. A rare trip to Idris, its beauty stopping him in his tracks and he fled this memory quicker than most. 

Jace found himself in a familiar bedroom. Amatis's guest bed. Clary and Jace together in frantic movement and Jace was unable to tear his gaze away. The way Clary gasped his name, smiling at him with the softest expression. Shafts of moonlight illuminated her face, lighting up her tresses, and giving them a kind of pale fire. Jace watched himself stroke her face and she mewled. Unable to help it, he reached out to touch her. His hands were insubstantial, but when Clary shut her eyes, he pretended that it was due to him. Jace imagined the softness of her skin, that he knew she had. He continued to watch long after they had finished and were just embracing as they drifted off to sleep. Jace smiled as Clary snuggled closer to his past self. It only grew wider when he had kissed the top of her head. 

His stare meant nothing to the two lovers. Hew was merely an interloper, a ghost. Jace wavered as the moonlight hit their bodies, both now in deep sleep. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he finally had to close his eyes and not look behind him as he walked through the door. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he was blasted with cold air and bright lights. Jace opened his eyes and reeled at the at the new found sight. 

He was in a large, circular room so white that it hurt his eyes. The stone-if it was in fact stone-that he stood on was floating on its own. White, flat pillars, or obelisks loomed in a circle, enclosing the floor like a fence. At least fifty of them. Keeping the blackness at bay. They had a certain glow to them, a whisper of sound pricking his ears. Across from him was a form. 

It seemed to writhe and keep still all at once. Large and yet only as tall as he was. It was the world and yet it was a man. Carrying a trumpet in one hand. It was long, slim, and golden. Robes flowed down and Jace caught a glimpse of bare feet before he had to look away. Words appeared to permeate the air. Instead of being spoken, were plucked out of thought and put directly into Jace's mind. 

"It is almost complete and your path clear. Pass these gates and walk horizon of eternity to the limitless not to return."

Jace was unable to speak, so he just nodded. Arms outstretched and seemed never ending. Jace flinched back but the being grabbed its trumpet and blew. Sound cut through the air, sharp enough to hurt and Jace shook as the hairs on his arms and neck stiffened like there was static in the air. The ground shook and Jace crouched down, hands clapped over his ears. Images flashed through his mind, too quick to discern. It was over within moments. Jace stood up and found himself alone. Now a pathway to a bridge had opened up right across from him. 

Jogging forward, he passed the blazing bars of light to walk along the narrow bridge. It had no railing or support, just a long, flat column of stone wide enough for a person to pass single file. However, Jace could only feel it beneath his feet and not see it. In fact, he couldn't see anything. For the darkness pressed upon him on all sides. It was the color black, close to construction paper, in the sense that it had no depth from shadows but a flat blackness that kept him from straying. No sound of his footfalls marked his passage and even his own thoughts seemed muffled. 

Jace kept walking ahead, unsure of how much time had passed. Rubbing his arms, he struggled to keep his thoughts in place. Jace only had a vague sense that he was close, as sounds were beginning to return. Even light-sensing the end, Jace picked up the pace. 

Clary. Jace halted. As if by magic, when he thought of Clary, he turned back to look behind him. For a split second, he could have sworn that she was there, and then his spirit fled. Jace found himself in a bedroom and amidst its clutter, resting in the center of the bed was-

"Clary."

His voice shook, barely more than a whisper. Clary stirred and Jace held his breath, leaning forward, shoulders tense until she opened her eyes and saw a flash of green. Clary frowned, doing a little double take as she stared up at him. Her expression hadn't quite settled into something readable. Shaking, Jace reached out a hand and-

Like a rubber band, he was snatched back to the bridge. The speed shredded at him and he barely had a chance to stand before he was flung into the empty and his soul dissipated as if it never existed.

___________________________________________

With a small croon, Clary rubbed at his eyes, and sat up. Looking around, she was alone in Bobby's spare bedroom. Groggy, she shook her head, trying to clear the vague sense that she was missing something. Clary cleared her throat, sudden pain flaring in her chest. A kind of burning that lingered. Wincing as she moved, Clary eased herself out of bed with a bit of a sway in her stance. When the dizziness passed, she walked downstairs to find it empty. Frowning, Clary padded out to the garage outside and found everyone surrounding a tall, gaunt man seated by the work bench, with only Dean seated opposite him. Her foot nudged a car bumper and everyone looked up at her approach.

However, the stranger's gaze went right through her. She went cold all over as a sensation not unlike deja vu crept into her thoughts. As if an entire lifetime of feelings, memories, and relationships were filling her up to the the point that she could no longer discern the point of origin. All she knew was that looking at this man, no this stranger, was the cause of it all. Then the sensation passed, leaving her unsure of what transpired, only that she had left something behind. 

"Sorry." she said. "So whose this? What's going on?"

He turned his knowing gaze away. 

"That my dear, is Death." Magnus said. 

"Death?"

Dean flinched, surprising Clary enough that she only took a cursory glance at the faces of the others. She looked down, just now noticing the Horseman rings on the table and that a fourth one had been added, a little ways off. Her eyes widened and she found herself unable to speak. Nodding, she went closer so that she stood shoulder to shoulder with Jocelyn, who cradled Eden until Clary gestured for her daughter, and held her to her chest. 

"Catch me up?" Clary asked.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Death was just tellin' us that he's bound to Lucifer and isn't too pleased with that. Oh and the devil's set up shop in Detroit." he said. 

"So what are we waiting for?" Clary asked. "I thought that the rings opened the cage-"

"It's forcing him back in that's the problem." Sam interrupted. "He won't just let us put him back inside and we don't have a whole lot of options-"

"But the rings-" Clary started.

"That is assuming I just hand mine over." Death said.

Everyone froze and Death kept speaking as if he hadn't noticed. 

"I will assist you by giving my ring on the condition that Sam does his part in any way he see's fit."

Like spectators for a tennis match, everyone turned to look at Sam, who to his credit, held up under the scrutiny. Dean in particular looked aggrieved. 

"Sam?" Dean asked, impatience and suspicion in his voice. "Something you want to tell us?"

Sam squirmed for a moment before straightening and speaking. "We go to Detroit, bring the key, and I say yes." He held up a hand, saying the rest in a rush. "You guys open the cage and I jump in. If worse comes to worst, you'll have to force me in. We've got just enough numbers for that."

"No." Dean's voice was stony.

"Dean-"

"I said no."

"It's the end of the world." Sam shouted. Dean pulled back and Sam softened his voice. "This is my choice."

"You think you can do it?" Isabelle asked.

Dean rounded on her, opening his mouth, when Sam cut him off with a nod. 

"We have enough numbers that this doesn't have to be our first option." Bobby said.

"But not a guarantee." Sam countered. "I know. I'd rather not have anyone force me down there, but need to do this with minimum casualties." He turned to Death. "I'll do it."

Death and Sam stared at each other for a few minutes longer before Death gave a brisk nod. "Very well." he pushed his ring closer to the other three. "I expect this back." 

With that, Death sat up and disappeared. Bobby bowed his head as Dean began to shout. 

"You can't just-"

"Sounds like he made his choice."

Everyone whirled around yet again, heads turning to face the new speaker. Sam's eyes widened.

"Gabriel. How'd you-"

"Escape Michael and the God squad?" he shrugged. "Wasn't easy but I shook em' off. Why else would it have taken me this long to get back here?"

Sam shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "So I've been told." he sobered. "We still have enough of a chance to win." he said. 

Dean glowered at Gabriel. 

"Let's take this back inside." Bobby said. "I got my maps and equipment in there."

Everyone else began to move and speak as they all filed and trudged their way back. Once inside Bobby's study, the atmosphere shifted into a more business-like efficiency. 

"When do we leave for Detroit?" Jocelyn asked. 

"As soon as it's light out." Bobby said. "We've been runnin' on fumes and that won't do anyone any bit of good. Ya'll-" he pointed to Sam and Dean. "Look dead on your feet. We battle plan now and then get a few hours shut eye." he said. He spared no one from his glare. "That understood?"

Some scattered nods and a few murmurs of assent.

"Good." Bobby said.

The moonlight filtered in from the large windows, but was diluted as Ellen turned on a few more lights. Clary put Eden to bed and found her sketch pad, with the declaration that she was going to give out runes. She set to work. Simon went into the kitchen to make dinner as Bobby, Magnus, Ellen, and Jocelyn poured over maps and blue prints of Detroit. Alec began to organize and prepare the weapons. Isabelle assisted him for a bit before joining Jo in cracking open a couple of beers. Pretty soon Gabriel and Balthazar joined them. Chuck dozed on the couch. Together, a plan was hashed out and face a few revisions until it was for the most part, satisfactory.

Gabriel called their remaining angel forces-all ten of them-of the plan. With this complete, Sam slipped outside, avoiding the angels as he did so, and moments afterwards everyone else dissipated to be left to their own devices. Simon informed everyone that dinner was ready to those who wanted it and they could serve themselves. Dean could barely stomach anything, but he grabbed two beers and headed outside. 

The warm breeze hit his face as he let the screen door slam behind him. Cicadas chirped, unseen but close by. He swallowed down the heaviness in his chest and headed out to the sea of cars. Moving past the junked clunkers and rusted spare parts, soft voices reached his ears. Dean picked up his pace and turned past a dented frame of an Oldsmobile. The conversation got a little clearer. 

"I know why you fell." 

"You do?"

Anna and Cas. Dean was brought up short by the tone in Cas's voice. Equal parts wary and confused. 

"How so?" Anna asked.

"You know, when I first learned of your fall, I didn't believe it. I didn't want to. To me, you were the strongest of us. I thought that if I ever saw you again, I would tell you how much of a disappointment you had become. That you fell for such selfish reasons-" he broke off with a sigh. "Now I realize I was the selfish one. For sending you back to Heaven when I was confused. After I asked you for answers and you told me to think for myself." Cas said. 

Anna gave a little laugh as if remembering an old joke. "Alright so maybe for slightly different reasons. But, you gotta admit, this place has its perks." she said. 

There was a pause and for some reason, the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood up. The silence seemed significant somehow, not just the tone or content of teasing. Something told Dean not to take it at face value. He could almost picture the expression on Cas's face and then Cas spoke again. 

"Yes. Yes, that's why I'll do what I can to make sure our plan succeeds."

"Is that why you're feeling better?" Anna asked, her voice contemplative. "I mean, in the sense that you don't seem as upset as you did when Joshua spoke to us." 

Dean froze, sucking in a breath. He was surprised that Anna broached the subject at all, but he kept still as he waited for Cas to speak. 

"I didn't expect that. That I could get past that. I'm still not sure how any angel does. Maybe I'll change my mind after all this is over and when I can afford to think deeper on it." He took a breath, as if steeling himself for a blow. "I'm not sure I can ever believe in Him again after hearing that. In fact, I think I'm too angry to do so. Angry enough to take charge of myself in a way I've never had to before. So I won't beg for his assistance-I'll do what he will not do-protect Dean. Those boys-protect them all." his voice hardened. "Something I've done a better job at, if I do say so myself."

Anna laughed but Cas went on, voice gaining strength, as if he himself was coming to a realization.   
"So no, I don't regret whet I've done. Because this world is worth protecting."

Another long pause. 

"See?" Anna's voice held something strong in it. "That right there? That's why I forgive you. Why I think this'll all work out. It has to."

"I hope so."

"I know so. I also know that this isn't something you should keep to yourself." Anna said. 

Dean gave a little jump, almost not catching Cas's confused reply. Figuring he had been found out, he shrugged and turned the corner to see the two angels. Anna and Cas were leaning against the bed of Clary's truck, its little gate pulled down. Dean cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Ah, just looking for Sam." he said. 

Anna gave him a brief but warm smile. "I'll get him for you." 

She hurried off before either could protest and then they were alone. Cas rubbed the back of his neck as Dean walked closer over. He held out a beer and Cas took it. 

"I take it you heard all that." Cas said. 

"Err...yeah, sorry bout' that." Dean untwisted the cap of his beer and took a swig."

"Don't be. It's as I said."

"Still." Dean cleared his throat. "I know that uh, that doing that-rebelling-that's draining your batteries; the more you human you get. I know that scares the crap outta you, but uh, just know, no matter what I like you as is."

"Likewise."

Dean's frown of confusion was brief but has such consternation contained within it that it gave Castiel pause. 

"Why?" Dean asked. 

Cas fully turned to stare at him, saying nothing. Dean fidgeted under the full weight of the scrutiny. The angel frowned, but Dean had a inkling that it wasn't directed at him per se. No, it was as if Cas could see right through him. The corner of Cas's eyes crinkled. Not quite a smile but no longer a frown. It made Dean's stomach flip flop between dread and anticipation for the angel's words. Castiel took his time in answering, the air heavy enough for a tangible charge.

"Because I held your soul in my hands and it forever altered my fate. I'm at peace with that."

Dean waited for him to continue but Cas had finished speaking, looking as calm as Dean had ever seen him. Dean gaped at him. The sincerity alone made him rock back on his heels. Dean dragged his gaze away from Cas, unable to meet that gaze any longer. He knew his expression had gone slack as he seemed to Castiel as if the other man was grappling with something. Dean took a long, protracted gulp of his beer before clearing his throat. His laugh had a tinge of hysteria.

"Well that's one way to have a conversation." he said. 

"I supposed so." Cas answered.

"So..."

"So."

"Got any plans?" Dean asked.

Cas, sensing the joke, smiled.

____________________________________

A rough hand on his shoulders and his name repeated enough times, made him realize Bobby was shaking him awake. Dean shifted, rubbing his eyes. Pale, purple light telling him the sun was just on the horizon. The metal of the truck bed digging into his back. His hand flopped. He meant to grab Cas's shoulder but his fingers smacked into an empty beer bottle. Dean looked up into Bobby's face. The older man's usual scowl replaced by dire worry.

"Sam's gone."

Dean bolted up, ice running down his spine. Bobby continued. 

"Took one of the spare cars and the sword."

Dean pushed himself off the truck, the movement waking Cas, who twisted around to regard them with a puzzled expression. Bobby repeated himself with a growl and Dean took out his cell phone to dial Sam's number. He listened for a moment before hearing the jingle from his brother's cell. 

"The garage." he said.

He jogged to it, Bobby and Cas right behind him. Dean found Sam's phone lying on the work bench next to an old tool box. 

"Everything else still here?" Cas asked. 

"I checked. The sword was the only thing he took." Bobby replied.

"Son of a bitch." Dean held up Sam's cell phone. "Stupid, stupid kid."

He looked at the screen, the way it flashed a notice for missed messages. Dean frowned. 

"Let's round everybody up. Sam's probably got a couple hours lead on us." Bobby said. 

Dean didn't answer, following the two of the, out of the garage. Dean scrolled through Sam's messages. Notifications for a voicemail came up, it's date months old. Dean's foreboding increased, pressing his ear to the phone, and he played the message. His own voice greeted him. The cold finality of it stopping him in his tracks. 

"Listen to me, you blood sucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to kill you or save you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam-a vampire. You're not you anymore and there's no going back." 

The message ended with a click. Dean dropped the phone on the ground, concrete cracking the plastic screen. Sounds faded as blood rushed in his ears, heartbeat overwhelming him. The hatred within those words crashing all around and Dean gagged. Spots dotted across his him, obscuring his sight, and he swayed. He wasn't sure how he was staying upright. Dean was vaguely aware that Bobby and Cas had stopped moving and were staring at him. Much in the same way that he could feel the blood draining from his face. Dean tried to move, to over take them.

"We gotta go-now-hurry it up!" he shouted.

Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing Dean to look him in the eye.

"Take a breath son."

Dean glared but his as he was told, and the shaking in his muscles slowed as they made their way back to the house. Cas and Bobby roused those who were still asleep as the latter filled everyone in. 

"That idiot." Gabriel snarled. 

Dean glared. The archangel had no business sounding that upset, but he said nothing and Gabriel offered no further comment. In the flurry of activity, Clary stood up, holding her sketchbook aloft. 

"Everybody line up and get your marks."

"What?" Dean snapped.

The nephilim and Magnus gaped at her. 

"I thought normal humans couldn't withstand those." Jo said.

Simon frowned, although he looked thoughtful. "What did you do?" he asked.

"I made some new runes." Clary held up a hand. "Hey, we're in a hurry, so here's the short version. After I marked Simon with no bad effects, I realized that I could make a rune that would bypass that particular drawback." She held her stele up. "A rune that can be used on everyone by everyone and one that requires a partner. Two people who can acess each others abilities and strengths. It took me awhile to figure out how that could work, but I've got it. I call it alliance. Now, you've got to mark your intended partner for it to be used."

"Friggin' fascinating." Dean said. "What the hell? I'll do it."

Clary nodded, shoulders slumping in brief relief. Flipping open her sketch pad, she found the page she was looking for. One that had a single design inscribed on it. Lines curling and tangling together to form an intricate knot. Clary passed along the sketchbook and stele to Dean.

"Try the forearm." she said.

Dean nodded, rolling up his sleeve. He gestured to Cas.

"Ok, lay it on me." he said.

Cas blinked, a second's hesitation before he put the stele to Dean's skin. Dean winced as the tip dragged along his flesh, a slight burn trailing from the instrument. It stood out, bright against his skin, even as he traded off with Cas. The angel's eyes widened at the mark's energy and Dean applied it quickly. The effect was immediate as each respective mark glowed. Dean did a double take.

"Woah. That's intense."

Bobby snorted. Everyone began to pair off. Alec and Magnus, Isabelle and Jo, Simon and Ellen, Jocelyn and Bobby. As Cas and Dean continued to stare at each other, the stele was passed to Jocelyn and Bobby. Alec and Magnus conversed as they waited for their turn. 

"Alec, are you sure it is wise to partner with me? My magic has been halved-"

"Exactly. So you could you my abilities now more than ever."

"Don't forget, I've got other runes." Clary spoke up. "Due to the nature of alliance, its the only rune that will work on everyone here and only then for a few hours."

Isabelle pulled out an unused seraph blade and handed it to Dean. "Here, I have a feeling that you;ll need it more than me."

Dean stared at it before pocketing it with a nod of thanks. Clary grew pale, leaning against the kitchen table. Jocelyn and Simon went to her side, but she gave a little wave with her hand.

"I'm fine." she panted. "Don't worry about me, just got a little dizzy."

She gave each of them a smile. Jocelyn and Simon traded looks. Neither seemed particularly convinced but both dropped it. Alec flipped to another page in the sketchbook. 

"What's this one?" he held the book aloft. 

"Oh. Fearless." she said.

"Huh." Alec nodded to himself. 

Gabriel watched all of this with a neutral expression and continued to do so as everyone gathered their necessary things and moved outside. Clary followed them out, insisting they take the sketchbook with them as everyone piled into either her truck, the impala, of Ellen's jeep. Gabriel wandered into the back of the impala, ignoring Dean's glower. Dean, for the most part, was silent as he turned on the ignition and peeled out of the driveway. Wheels screeching and churning gravel beneath them before barreling down the road. Only a mindless chanting in his thoughts.

'Hang on, Sammy.'  
___________________________________________________  
TBC...


	29. Cry of the hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.   
> Warnings: Character deaths, violence, emotional torture, language. I'm not the most geographically minded person, but I did get some basic facts about Detroit.   
> Word Count: 7,809  
> AN: This is essentially a two-parter. As always, enjoy!

'In the beginning was the word-No. No, that wasn't quite right. The beginning was indeed important, yes, but this is-'

Chuck sighed, looking up from his screen. Taking another swig of his drink, he took in his surroundings. It was quiet. One of Bobby's clocks ticking away from a tucked away corner. A clink of ice in Chuck's glass. The small fan in the kitchen moving it's blades in lazy whirls. A creak in the floorboards, and he looked up to see Clary.

She sat up, smiling as Chuck continued his clacking of the keyboard. She padded into the kitchen. Fixing herself some of the leftovers Simon made the night before, she set herself to writing out a letter. She tried to keep her handwriting neat as tears pricked her eyes. She took too many breaks, refilling her tea, and watching Chuck type. Clary stared at the writer until her eyes fully blurred and she had to wipe her eyes to clear them. 

Chuck leaned forward, taking a swig of his drink. Sucking in a breath, he tried to keep his fingers steady as the power of his words went onto the page, solidifying their strength. 

'-For every person we end up caring about, is another story that at some point, will have to end. That's the part everyone wants to know about right? How it ends?'

___________________________________________  
Sam stood across from the Devil, with the soul-sword dangling in his hand. The hilt burning into his flesh. Arm shaking and vision wavering, he kept himself upright as he stared at Lucifer's back. Sam swayed as he took a step forward. Lucifer smiled and Sam stopped. He couldn't keep his eyes off Lucifer, despite their surroundings. At the top of the Detroit Marriott at the Renaissance Center. The restaurant wasn't crowded, only a few people sat at tables, and none of them spoke. Shivering, Sam kept quiet as he watched Lucifer stare at the skyline. Little cracks of ice appear at the edges of the glass. Lucifer only gave a single inclination of his head in Sam's direction.

"So now that we have a little time together...what would you like to do?"

Sam swallowed, trying not to gag. No words slid past his mouth as he narrowed his eyes. After a few minutes of silence, Lucifer tutted and Sam flinched, unable to back away as Lucifer fully turned to face Sam. 

"I brought these ones here..." he gestured to the possessed men and women lounging around the bar with a sweep of his hand. "...as a peace offering, well, more of an incentive, really. I know that you've been dicked over by Azazel's little playgroup for, oh, about forever." He shrugged. "So, here they are. Go nuts." 

Sam shook his head. "Just get it over with." he said. 

Lucifer shook his head with a soft laugh. "Well, if you insist. Say, the magic word, Sammy."

Sam's eyes flashed but he said nothing, dragging the moment out before taking a slow, deep breath. "Yes."

Smiling, Lucifer spread out his arms and a humming whine permeated the air, like a machine powering up. Light engulfed the room. Sam dropped the sword as he threw up his hands. The last clear thing he caught a glimpse of was Lucifer putting a hand on his shoulder. Sam threw back his head, screaming as hot-cold power flooded through him, tangling his senses until all he could understand was pain. Images slammed into his vision, without out context or reason as he could have sworn he heard his insides searing with the force of the archangel filling him up. Doubling over, Sam was flung back into the recesses of him mind. 

With a kind of swimming sight, Sam watched himself, his body straighten. The sensation of moving was still there, but distant, as if he could only feel himself from some kind of memory of how to move. Sam shuddered, or rather, imagined himself shuddering despite his body not making a move of the sort. Sam tried to move his hand, to flex his fingers, anything. 

A rumble from his stomach, traversing up to his throat, and pouring out of his mouth. Sam was laughing. The command to laugh still worked. He could still feel his body working and how it was not under his own power. Sam's own mental voice screamed, echoing in his head. He heard his voice rattling in his own ears, spoken aloud to chill the room. 

"Easy Sammy..."

Lucifer turned Sam's body on his heel, picking up the fallen sword. As he hefted Maellartach into the air, Sam's muscles sang with power as grace threaded through them at the slightest movement. Until, Sam was dizzy with the feeling, and he had to concentrate to hear Lucifer's words.

"We've got work to do."

With that, Sam tumbled back into the corners of his own mind.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The sky darkened as the scent of ozone permeated the air. Grace thrumming through the streets as Ancients, demons, and angels alike shuddered at the rapid rush of power oozing out from every atom. The screech of of Lucifer's wings did not bother the archangels Raphael and Michael as they shot through the sky. Lightening flashed. 

"They approach." Raphael called out, voice cracking the windows of buildings within five blocks. 

"Deal with them." Michael said. His voice pitched for all the heavenly host to hear. "Half our forces to Raphael and the other to me, to combat these beasts. Leave Lucifer to me."

Thunder seemed to boom in agreement with the celestial command.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Gabriel reeled back in his seat with a sharp breath. Dean whipped his head in the archangel's direction.

"What?"

"Michael and Raphael-they know we're here. Looks like Sam said yes. We're too late." 

"No." Castiel rasped from the backseat. "We must try."

Whatever Dean was about to say was cut off by Gabriel twisting around to look at his younger brother. 

"I didn't say we wouldn't, just that it's gonna be way harder now. Now, that the Death Star knows we're coming and how many mooks we'll have to plow through to get to Lucifer-"

"You know where Sam is?" Dean asked. 

Gabriel nodded as Castiel shuddered. Gabriel pointed ahead of them. 

"He's at that tower."

Dean frowned. "In The Renaissance Center? That tower."

"Yup the building in the center."

Dean pressed the gas pedal harder, shooting forward. The impala barreled forward and as they were about to head to an intersection, Cas suddenly called out.

"Dean, to the left."

Dean turned in time to see a wave of croatoans rush at their car. Bobby's van and Clary's truck swerved behind them in time to avoid the swell of infected people racing to them. A few were unlucky enough to get hit by the rear end of Clary's truck as it brought up the rear. Castiel could just make out Jo and Isabelle dispatching the ones that got to close to the truck bed. As the creatures fell, something in his chest somewhat lightened but not enough to dissipate the dread and anger that came from the vague proximity of ancients lurking blocks away. 

Castiel's lip curled at the thought. Bobby's van's headlights flashed and Dean slowed enough for Bobby to pull up beside them. Magnus sat in the passenger seat, rolling down the window, and Dean followed suit. 

"There are too many beasties to handle-" Magnus shouted. "You need to get to Sam and let us handle with the riffraff-"

"What?" Dean shook his head. "Gabe know's where Sam's at-"

"Then go." Magnus shouted. 

Castiel nodded. "Dean, he's right. At this point, you're probably the only who stands a chance at getting through to Sam."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and then gave a brisk nod. He sped up without a word. The van and pickup truck getting smaller in his rear view mirror. Gritting his teeth as he saw demons, croatoans, and even an ancient swarm the two vehicles. A quick flash out of the corner of his eye, and Dean swerved in time to miss the tangle of trip wire lines as demons raced towards them, unheeding of the mini-explosions rattling the street. Dean plowed through them. A demon hit the grille, flipping onto the windshield, screeching as it's jacket sleeve got caught on the windshield wiper. With a sharp turn, Dean shook the demon off.

The ground thudded as he took a turn too tightly. Gabriel gave rapid fire directions, Dean's hands white-knuckling the steering wheel as he took a side street and came out at an intersection. Gabriel cursed seconds before a bolt of lightening struck the ground. Street lights flickered on and off like demented Morse code as cars went skidding across the pavement. Dean slammed on the breaks, shielding his eyes. The scent of rubber couldn't cover the acidic stench coming from the street. The back end of the impala rose to a thirty degree angle, Dean shouting as he opened his eyes. 

Raphael stood in front of them, his right foot pressing into the grille of the impala. Dean glared as more angels in plain, black suits appeared, circling the car. They wore identical blank expressions. In each of their hands were angel blades. The impala was set down none too gently as Raphael fixed his gaze on the three of them. 

"Dean."

Dean didn't move as he answered Castiel.

"What?"

"Go." 

"What?" Dean's voice rose. "Dude-"

"I'll handle this." Castiel's flinty voice rumbled in the car. 

Dean twisted in his seat to stare. He held Castiel's gaze for no more than a minute but to Dean it felt far longer. He finally gave a final nod. 

"Kick it in the ass." He said. 

Castiel held up his angel blade before exiting the car. Raphael glowered at the younger angel, voice like the dregs of gravel at the bottom of the well. A crack of thunder at the end of his speech. 

"Castiel, stop this foolishness-"

"You first."

Raphael took a step forward and a flurry of movement interrupted him. Dean pulled back as more angels filled the street. Dean recognized Anna, Balthazar, Tabris, and the other rescued angels. Each respective flock rushing to combat each other, but he stayed transfixed as Raphael didn't slow his approach to Castiel, who tensed. Another sharp burst of light and then they were gone. 

"Go go go go." Gabriel shouted. 

Dean peeked up through his windshield as he hit the gas. The clouds were lit up as if from the inside out and he caught the silhouettes of two pairs of wings surrounded by lightening spasming out of control.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Bobby's van hit yet another croatoan. It went flying, knocking into the crowds of infected people. They staggered back just as Clary's truck barreled past them. They flanked each other, taking sharp turns as they tried to get past the hordes of creatures. Soon they clambered onto the hood and windshield of Bobby's van. The scrape of their fingernails across the glass of the windows made Alec wince. He caught Magnus's gaze and gave him a tight smile. 

"I don't think we can go any farther with the van." Alec said.

Bobby cursed but inclined his head. "Any ideas?"

Alec opened his mouth to answer, but a rumble caught his words in his throat. His eyes widened. Simon fumbled with the shotgun in his lap, trying to prevent the spare cartridge box from skittering away. The sudden rumbling grew in intensity as whatever it was came closer. 

"What now?" Alec snapped breathlessly.

"Uh, giant T. Rex?" Simon asked. 

"Funny." Bobby growled. 

Alec sat up straighter. "I think I've got an idea."

"You think?" Ellen asked. 

Alec's eyes glittered in the low light, seeming to become sharper as he gave another nod. 

"We need to lead these creatures to a single, concentrated place and destroy them in one fell swoop."

"I don't disagree but what place?" Bobby asked.

"That building that was, oh a few blocks up from us. It looks big enough to contain the damage." he said.

"What about this big thing headin' for us?" Ellen asked. "Sounds too close for us to leave."

"Right." Alec turned to Magnus. "I'll stop it. I need you to mark me with that fearless rune Clary gave us."

Magnus gaped at him. "We didn't have time to see if it even worked."

Alec tried to smile. "It's now or never." he said. 

Magnus swallowed. "All right. Come here."

As Alec scooted forward, he handed the warlock his stele. Alec shuddered at the warmth of Magnus's fingers as he pressed his stele into Magnus's palm. Alec turned his back to Magnus and moving his shirt around to exposed his back. Magnus began to speak and Alec had to focus on the words. 

"We'll have to split up again. Alec and I will deal with this beast and the rest of you hurry to the center. I suggest using the vehicles as a way through." he said.

Bobby hmm'd as Simon handed Ellen the shotgun. Their hushed voices didn't carry over the screeches of the croatoans trying to find away in. Simon grabbed one of the two-way radio's and filled in the others from the truck. 

"You done?" Bobby asked Magnus, at the affirmative, he added. "Go now. Good luck to ya."

As the mark settled into Alec's skin, a strange calm settled over him. That voice of caution, of indeed, fear settled into the background. A smile played on his lips as he adjusted his shirt back into place. Checking his weapons to see if they were in place, and when that was satisfactory, he turned to Magnus. The warlock's eyes seemed to sparkle more than usual and Alec didn't really care if that was an effect of the rune of now.

"I'm ready, you?"

Magnus blinked. "Yes."

Without a further word, Alec opened the sliding door and dashed out. Magnus hoot on his heels. Bobby and Ellen covered them with gunfire as Simon kept the bolder croatoans at bay with his own rune. Those sounds faded into the backround as Alec stared up at the owner of those rumbling footsteps. Magnus cursed in Cthonian behind him. 

"I don't beleive it. An elapid. I've never seen one this size before."

Magnus waggled his fingers, flinging magic at the croatoans swarming the cars. The blue fireballs caught at the creatures, which screamed in pain, and scattered them back. Headlights free, the light blinded anyone directly in front of them. Bobby blared his horn as he shot forward, with the pick up truck right behind him. Alec caught sight of Isabelle in the truck bed. He gave her a jaunty wave as she passed by him. He didn't catch what she shouted at him, as he had already turned his attention to the massive elapid in front of them. 

It was a snaked headed beast with a thick scaled body and jointed, insecticidal legs that ended in jagged, yellowed claws. Its hooded head connected to a flattened, cobra-like neck as it reared back. Venom slicked fangs gleamed in a sickly jaundiced hue. It gave a phlegm filled hiss before shooting out a black-green ichor from its mouth. Magnus leapt out of the way in time, but Alec merely stepped aside. It's thick venom hit a light post, disintegrating it with a slow simmer. The elapid reared up again, waving its legs in the air. The stench coming from its underbelly would be enough to send a grown man reeling and it's scream piercing the air. Instead of recoiling, Alec grinned.

'Bring it.'  
_______________________________________________________________________  
The van crashed through the Winter-garden restaurant and atrium as the truck fishtailed past them and out of sight. The truck crashed through the General Motors showroom, blitzing past the few cars left on display as Isabelle pushed Jo out of the truck and Jocelyn managed to duck and roll to safety. The three women hurried to Simon and Bobby just as demons entered the fray. 

Bobby, Ellen, and Jo fired their shotguns as Isabelle's whip shot through the throng of demons in a blur. As soon as a demon laid a hand on Simon, the wanderer mark lit up and destroyed his attackers. 

"Here, I'll cover anyone who needs to reload." Simon called. 

Bobby darted behind him as Jo fired a round into a demon that ventured to close to Ellen. Isabelle swung her whip in a high arc above her head. Jocelyn darted to and fro, a hijacked angel blade in her hands. No demon could steer clear of it. Ellen and Bobby switched places and the little huddle of defenders moved further along the food court until they managed to get to a grubby water fountain. A cherub with an urn that had a long crack down the front of its face partially obscured them from the demons pursuing them. 

Long peals of laughter made them look up. Meg and Sebastian leered from above, the floors above them could be seen from the ground level. At the couple's intrusion, Jocelyn's glare turned murderous. 

"We could do this all day." Sebastian called. "Isn't that right, mother?"

"Then come down here and prove it." she shouted. 

Another burst of screeching and crashes that meant ancients were close by. Bobby raised his gun higher as Jo reloaded. Simon held up his fists. Ancients of all manner jostled for space and some demons unlucky enough to be close at hand were struck by pincers, claws, and fangs. Sebastian continued to taunt Jocelyn, who gave back as good as he got.

"Do you still have those explosives?" Ellen asked Bobby. 

He grimaced. "Still in the van."

"Think we can make a break for them?" she asked.

"I'll do you one better." Bobby pulled a slim stick out of his jacket. "Just pushed the button."

They exchanged a look. A loud thud forced their attention back to Meg and Sebastian. One of them had thrown an ancient down to the ground level and now it advanced on them, pincers clicking together as it scuttled along the floor. Bobby took a shot and it darted to the side. Simon raised his fists higher as the creature rose up on ungainly legs and flung its jaws open wide-

A quick snap. Flames shot out, inches from Simon's face. He sprang back in time to avoid getting burned as the ancient writhed in pain. Another echoing snap and like magic, an angel-Michael-appeared. He raised his hands, fingers curled for a second before snapping them. Fire came to life, and with a wave of Michael's hand, twisting into a lasso of blazing heat. Flames razing demons and croatoans alike. The remaining ancients couldn't get away fast enough. They caught fire with ease, writhing around. Demons screamed, trying to leave their hosts to no avail. One flaming ancient careened into a demon just as it was trying to exit its host. The two melded into one giant fireball and crashed into a department store. Meg and Sebastian were no where to be seen. Michael kept snapping his fingers like some demented conductor as he produced more fire to command.

The flames continued and the group managed to stay out of its way for the most part. Keeping their heads low, zigzagging away from fireballs and leaping, fire coated demons. Bobby ran out of shells, the tip of his gun catching fire, and he flung the gun away from him. It landed in the fountain with a quiet splash. They made it back to the van. The ground shook, sliding the van forward as a loud ringing grew in intensity. Hurrying into the driver's seat, Bobby twisted the wheel just as Jocelyn opened the sliding door and ushered the others inside. 

Sebastian and Meg darted out from behind the brake lights. Sebastian swung out a right hook as Meg splayed out her hands. Jocelyn lost her grip on the van door, flung back from the force of Meg's kinetic attack. Simon rushed forward to meet Sebastian's fist and the latter was flung back from the force of Simon's mark. Ellen managed to grab Jocelyn's shoulders.

"Drive!" she shouted.

Bobby pressed the gas and they shot forward just as Meg grabbed Jocelyn's ankle. Sebastian sprinting behind them, the red brake lights casting a glare over his snarling face. Bobby sped past the General Motors showroom and Clary's pick up truck. He took a wide turn just as Jocelyn kicked Meg in the face, shaking the demon loose and sending her flying into a Lexus. Sebastian sped up. Barreling past more retail shops, the van jerked. Sebastian grabbed the door, jamming it. Jo shot at him, missing his face by inches as he kept the door open. 

Meg sprinting forward, took a running leap, kicking out at the wall and landing onto the roof of the van. Her shuddering impact made Bobby swerve again as the ringing grew even more intense. Bobby clapped his hands over his ears, trying to clamp down on the wheel with his elbows, to no avail as he lost control of the vehicle. The ground shook. Dust and plaster sifted down as the foundations groaned, unable to drown out the sound of an Archangel. 

Another snapping, groan of protest came from somewhere ahead of them, vibrations coming from that direction. The van took a sharp left, missing a set of stairs by a narrow margin to careen into an elevator. It was already halfway away from it's intended position, the top half barely showing, with only its thick wire cables keeping it aloft. The opening for the elevator's slot still showed. The van slammed into it at an angle, length wise so that the van blocked the entrance to the elevator. 

Meg was flung from the roof, tumbling down the windshield. Bobby managed to grab a gun, shooting out the glass, which spider webbed just in time for her to fall backwards. Sebastian slid across from the van. Jocelyn uncoiled from her position and sprang forward, blade flashing as she moved in for the kill. The van tilted, groaning as it leaned against the broken elevator. It couldn't hold the weight and the van began to shudder. Bobby sat up, struggling to get out of the driver's seat. His elbow hit the steering wheel, and the van twisted further. The back end sunk, angling as the wheels spun. 

Meg sat up, advancing as Bobby held up his gun at the already cracked glass. 

"Go." he shouted.

He shot the glass just as Jo pushed Simon out of the way. Simon twisted around in time to see his rune force Jo backwards into the van. Simon landed on the floor as Sebastian's feet. Isabelle's whip caught on the belt loop of Jo's jeans as Bobby pried himself loose from the drivers seat. The glass windshield shattered as Meg was blasted back. Ellen reached for Jo. 

"Ellen." Bobby called.

"Just go." she said. "Hurry." she yelled back to him. 

After a second's hesistation, Bobby crawled through the broken windshield, leaving himself exposed to Meg. Simon darted forward just in time to send Meg reeling back. Bobby got past the headlights.

"Thanks boy." he panted.

"Not a problem." Simon replied.

The ground shook yet again, this time accompainiend by blinding light and searing hot-cold blast of energy. The walls were coated in ice for only a few moments before cracking and melting. The ground cracked, deep grooves appearing in the marble floors. Jocelyn, Simon, Bobby, Meg, and Sebastian all retreated back as the ceiling started to collapse. No one was able to get any closer to the other three women. The van jolted forward, sending Ellen tumbling into Jo and Isabelle winced at the added weight when the van's own weight proved to be too much for the elevator, and the combined mass sent them all tumbling down the elevator shaft. 

________________________________________________________________________  
Dean parked along a deserted street and gaped at the building in front of him. The southwest tower 100 and the northwest tower 200 had collided with each other, the tops of their respective buildings pressed into each other, leaning away from the center tower to crush into one another. Tower 200 couldn't hold it's own weight, although tower 100 didn't look much better off. Despite the relative quiet of the area, Dean still shuddered.

"Please tell me Sam's on the third floor or something."

"Fraid' not." Gabriel said.

"And you can't just zap me up to the top?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Michael and Lucifer have already begun fighting. Too risky. We sneak in and I'll break up the fight. Buy you enough time to try and get through to Sam." he said.

"Yeah. Great."

The two of them hurried up to the entrance of tower 100. The lobby was deserted. Everything at a slant as furniture slid to the side, chairs stacked against each other as Dean made his way around the obstacles in his path. Gabriel hopped over an overturned table. They past a post office, its lights flickering. Paper fluttered through the air. Dean's shoes crunched over shards of glass. It was the only sound in the immanent area. Past the buzz of archangel grace and the dull groans of the building, there was nothing to make a protest. 

Gabriel only a few paces behind Dean, the two made their way to a stairwell. Emergency lights flashing as the red tone colored the building. Entering the stairwell, the hairs on the back of his neck and having someone behind him, Dean pulled the seraph blade out from his jacket. Eyeing the silver tube, he sucked in a breath and then spoke.

"Castiel."

At once, the blade hummed with life, extending into a short sword that ran up the length of his elbow. Dean gaped as a small, blue spark ran along the edge of the otherwise silver blade. Pulsing with power, he shivered as it traveled up his arm. Colors grew brighter, sharper as new found sounds reached his ears. More shaking from the building as a familiar shout lay underneath from a high pitched, angelic whine.

"Sam." he wheezed.

With a burst of strength-an angelic boost for his muscles-and Dean took the stairs two at a time.  
________________________________________________________________________  
He heard Dean's words, clear as a bell.

"Castiel."

Wings flaring as a portion of his strength went to Dean. Thunder vibrated through his grace in response to Raphael's shouts. Castiel couldn't move, the mix of lightening and grace filled the air. Raphael shot across the sky, striking Castiel, flinging himself back from the archangel. Lightening crackling and a tendril went for Castiel, who turned away, missing it by inches. Raphael slams into him and Castiel parries a thrust, their blades flashing as they blitz through the sky. 

Raphael battering his wings against Castiel, who swung his blade. It struck at Raphael's grace and with a scream, Raphael thrashed, sending Castiel's blade falling out of the sky. Thunder boomed. Raphael's voice filling directly into Castiel's mind, reverberating into his thoughts.

"I am Heaven and you think you can challenge me."

Flaring his wings wide in defiance, Castiel shifted as Raphael gathered the winds to him, the sky going completely black. Castiel couldn't help but shiver-far too human a response for some-as it began to rain. Castiel stared as Raphael's form branched out, his grace covering the sky. An idea came to Castiel and he took a moment to make peace with it. Castiel reached out with his thoughts and pulling Raphael's blade away from the archangel and taking it for himself. The thunder growled for Raphael as Castiel raised the blade up high, like a conducing rod. The lightening, called up by Castiel's grace, gathered to him, cracking loud enough to deafen.

"You dare?!" Raphael boomed.

"Yes."

Raphael charged, Castiel let his grace usher in the lightening to it, until they blended together enough that one ended with the other. It flowed from him to his blade. Castiel shook with the force of the power, blade vibrating as Castiel swung his sword just as Raphael slammed into him-

______________________________________________________________________  
Jo groaned, body aching in protest as she sat up. 

"Mom?"

An answering groan made her sit up straighter. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ellen struggle. Isabelle was closer and was able to pull Ellen free faster than Jo could. The van creaked in response. 

"Think the van broke our fall." Ellen said.

"We're lucky to be alive." Jo replied.

Isabelle nodded. "Now what?"

"Now we get out of here." Ellen said. "We won't be able to go back the way we came, but going back to ground level would be fore the best."

"All right, let's get moving." Jo said.

Together the three of them pushed the broken sliding door back open, its track mechanism squealing off its hinges. The van lay on its side, a few feet away from the felled elevator. They were at the bottom of the elevator shaft. 

Isabelle whistled. "We really were lucky. We could have fallen a lot farther." she said.

"Good thing it was the ground floor then." Jo said.

"Take as many weapons as you can carry." Ellen replied.

"What about the explosives?" Jo asked.

"We've got enough to cause a problem wherever we end up." Ellen waved the detonator in her hand.

Salvaging what they could, the trio managed to climb down the small gap in height. The wire cables were thick enough to support their weight, but everyone went down slow just in case. Isabelle's whip helping every step of the way. The elevator shaft led down a long tunnel. It almost resembled a subway tunnel, minus the tracks. They walked down the length of the dark tunnels. Their footsteps echoed as the sounds of a far off fight came from above. Isabelle and Ellen clicked on their flashlights. 

"Hope the others are ok." Jo said.

"They will be." Ellen replied.

Isabelle said nothing as Jo clicked on her own light. The hard parked concrete was strewn with cables, grime, and litter of all sorts. The odd scrawl of graffiti gleamed in their flashlight beams and droplets of water plinked from a far off place. Dust sifted from the ceiling whenever the building shook and the trio hurried their stride.

It was unclear how long they walked for. Ellen's stop was abrupt and the younger women froze. Ellen held up her hand for silence. There, coming in closer-a multitude of footsteps. A break in the tunnels revealed a network of crowded pipes. Screams shot through the air as a wave of croatoans appeared around the bend. 

"Where did they come from?!" Isabelle pulled back.

"Run!" Ellen shouted.

They took a tight turn on the left and the croatoans gave chase. Isabelle's whip shot into the crowd as she swerved out of reach of the infected hordes. Jo pointed up.

"Get to the pipes." she shouted.

Ellen took a running leap, hands managing to get a grip on the thick metal. Her legs dangling as more infected grabbed at her ankles and calves. 

"No!"

Jo fired into the crowd, and as the first wave of infected fell to the ground, the ones behind them crawled over the fallen bodies. Spent casings littered the floor. One rolled underneath Isabelle's shoe as she took a step back. A croatoan sprang at Jo. Isabelle's whip shot out just as both women fell the the ground. As the croatoan bent over Jo, the gold thread-y-ness of the whip buried itself in the infected creature's throat. Its blood splattered over Jo's already bruised face. The infected slumped to the side, impeding the advancing croats movements. Jo reloaded and fired into into a croat that got too close to Isabelle. The shot sent it reeling back into a pipe. 

Ellen took the butt of her shotgun and repeatedly slammed it into a pipe until it broke. Pressurized steam blasted the croats back and the girls helped each other up as the creatures shrieked at the heat. Ellen yelled, crawling farther away as Jo and Isabelle race underneath her. Already the infected were catching up. After following the pipeline, they came to a larger space. They could fan out and not have to hug the walls. There was another elevator shaft above them; wire cables hanging in long loops. A small alcove five feet from the ground.

Croatoans screaming long before arriving. Raising their guns, Ellen and Jo shot a barrage at the incoming wave as Isabelle darted, weaving through the attackers. A second wave of them and Isabelle pulled back, cutting more croats along the way. 

"This bottle-necking isn't working!" Isabelle called.

"The explosives!" Jo called back. 

Ellen reloaded as the girls pulled back. A third wave of infected forced them back and heaving themselves up into the little alcove.

"I'm out." Jo said. 

"I've only got two rounds left." Ellen said. 

Isabelle shook the blood off her whip. "So it's down to the explosives then?" 

Mother and daughter exchanged long looks. Isabelle kept silent, staring at the screaming of the infected. Calm settling over her, Isabelle nudged Jo's ankle with her boot. Jo winced and began to speak.

"Hand me the detonator." she said.

"No." Ellen shook her head. "Baby, no."

Jo gave a shaky smile. "It's my choice."

Isabelle's eyes blurred but she felt herself nodding all the same. Ellen kept shaking her head, voice small and breaking. 

"We can still get out of this." she said. 

"No, we can't." Jo replied. "At least you two can get away."

Ellen said nothing as Isabelle put a hand on Jo's shoulder. Jo's shoulders slumped and she didn't move away from Isabelle. Ellen drew her knees up to her chest, tapping her blue jean covered ankle. Jo started, eyes widening before filling with tears. Isabelle leaned forward, catching a glimpse before squeezing her eyes tight. She didn't make a sound. On Ellen's pants , was blood, the material ripped far enough to see the deep lacerations from a bite. 

"Oh mom."

"So you see, I won't leave you." 

Jo's mouth trembled and it took her minutes before she could finally nod. Ellen returned her shaky smile. Isabelle wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Jo cleared her throat. 

"We've still got knives left." she said.

Isabelle's grin was tight. "And my whip."

Both Ellen and Jo turned to stare at Isabelle, who shrugged at their expressions. Ellen took a deep breath. 

"You sure?"

"Gotta go sometime."

Laughing quick and quiet, Jo held out her hand for the detonator. Ellen paused, hand hovering over Jo's before setting the slim control in the young woman's hand. With a tight grip, Jo pulled out a knife from her boot before easing herself to the edge of the alcove. Only a few of the croats noticed, some even turning back the way they came. 

"Hey." Jo stood up. 

A collective rustle of movement and shouts. Isabelle flung her whip, letting it sail through the air as Jo took a running leap into the crowd. Landing on the shoulders of a croat, Jo stabbed it in the neck, as it gurgled she brought up her knees and kicked off the infected. It landed on top of another croat and Jo took on yet another infected with a running jump. Ellen followed suit, slashing her way through the creatures to get to her daughter. Ellen and Jo fought back to back, cutting down the closest infected, but they just kept coming. Both turned to Isabelle.

"Isabelle!" Ellen called.

A group of infected swarmed the alcove, pulling themselves up to reach Isabelle. Ducking out of reach, she kicked out the corner of the wall, whip slicing past to catch on a cable a hundred feet above her. Isabelle swung to safety, slowed and then dangled. Infected growled and screeched, unable to get to her. 

Isabelle's arm shook from the strain, dizzy from vertigo as she tried to swing to get momentum. Sweat slicking her hands, she slipped down the whip just as croats overwhelmed Ellen, swarming until Isabelle could only hear her. 

"Mom!" Jo rushed the infected. 

"Now!" Ellen screamed. 

Isabelle swung forward until she went flying sideways, almost letting go of her whip as she landed in a tangle of wires and pipes. Wheezing, she struggled to sit up. A rumbling from below forced her to freeze. The wires tightened around her body, cutting off circulation as the pipes rattled like they felt pain. Earsplitting cracking rent through the air and Isabelle tried to defend herself from the noise. Fingers inching for her whip and curling her hands around it just as another deafening shake blasted her away from her hiding place.

A part of the wall had been blown through as concrete, plaster, and metal flying in all directions. Isabelle's whip caught on a elevator cable, pulling her even farther up as flaming debris went even farther with a responding shake from the building. A steaming metal pipe hit her calve, knocking her off course. Isabelle screamed as she was flung up past an elevator, whip slack as her limbs waved. Her whip found a loose pipe, the force of the whip forced it open as steam shot out at her body. 

Shrieking, Isabelle twisted her body in time to see the elevator being forced upwards by the blast below. A split second before Isabelle hit the roof of the elevator, she gripped her whip tight. Slamming into the elevator, the left side of her face landing on an exposed bolt. A loud crack as her blood splattered over the hot metal. Her left eye gave way, burning in a hot gush of blood as she screamed. The elevator shot up, boosted by force and heat, until the ceiling rained pieces of itself. A clear opening in the elevator shaft and Isabelle was bucked off. Pinwheeling, Isabelle slack as she went through the air and landed in a heap next to a wishing fountain. She tried to stifle a sob as her body protested and she set her head back down. The building kept rumbling and Isabelle, now thoroughly unconscious, slid forward until a corner stopped her.   
_______________________________________________________________________  
The sudden shaking made Dean throw up his hands, splaying them against the walls. Gabriel clutched the rail. 

"The hell is that?" Dean shouted.

"Well it's not my brothers-"

"Just great." Dean gritted his teeth. "How much farther?"

"A few more floors." 

Together, they made their way up. Dean had to pull himself up by the rails until they were high enough that gravity did most of the work for them. The leaning building forced his legs to hurry as momentum carried him the rest of the way. His legs shook as he clutched the railing. Facing the final door, its red handle stated its status as an emergency exit. With one shaky breath, he let go of the railing and sped down to the door, the force of his body opening the door for him. 

Dean looked down, shouting as his legs fumbled for control. Vertigo hit as he wrapped his arms around the emergency door's handle as he looked for the roof. Said roof was at an extreme downward slant. Dean jumped when he felt Gabriel pressing into his shoulders. 

"Come on." he said.

"How?" 

Dean looked past the roof to see that the building next to him, while they were leaning on each other, a hairs-breadth from collapsing in on each other, still had a noticeable gap between roofs. On the left side of this tower dug into the tallest building in the center, with the tower on the other side had it's right angle in the tallest building. The right side was also a bit higher in degrees when it came to scraping against the center tower. There was was very little overlap between all three structures. Dean's feet dangled over the concrete by half a foot and he let go of the door. He turned to face Gabriel.

"Last I checked, only one of us can fly." Dean said.

Gabriel nodded. "True. Well, I'll just have to make sure you don't fall to your death."

"Very reassuring. Thanks."

Before Gabriel could reply, Dean began to move, half trotting half sliding down. He managed with no incident, reaching the corner of the roofs and peered down to see a five foot gap between the two. 

"Son of a bitch."

Backing up, Dean climbed back up a ways, and extended out his arms. Wobbling, he stood up and judging the distance, sprinted down. The corner of the roof jutted out at an angle and Dean hit it, using his momentum to push off it and clear the gap. Soaring for just a moment, arms and legs waving as lightening flashed behind him, blinding him. His foot caught the corner of the other side of opposite building, and he fell back. 

A pair of hands shot out, grabbing him by his jacket. Gabriel hauled him to his feet and onto the next roof. Panting, Dean eyed Gabriel. The archangel merely raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks for that."

"Yeah, whatever, I get paid by the hour."

Scowling, Dean gestured to the center building. As the side of roof they were on dug into the side of the building, thunder rumbled. 

"So we are even close to Sam?"

Gabriel sobered, jerking his head to the building. 

"Yup in there. Maybe we still even have the element of surprise on our hands. Just hold onto me."

Dean's mouth pressed into a thin line as he pulled out his seraph blade and then grabbed onto Gabriel's jacket. As soon as Dean was touching him, Gabriel moved. Dean's vision blurred and he was vaguely aware that they were moving far faster than he could on his own. With a single jump, they were passing a broken window, the frame vibrating as they went by. Gabriel set them down a minute later. 

Dean sprang away from him and gaped at the scene. Adam and Sam, each with a sword in hand. Dean swallowed hard. 

"Adam-"

"Isn't here." he said. 

"Hey bro." Gabriel addressed them both. "Michael I think it's time you stepped away."

Adam-or rather, Michael scowled, eyes flashing as he glowered at Gabriel.

"You have that backwards, brother. I'm doing as our father commanded. I have to slay the serpent." Michael said.

Sam tutted and out the sound, Dean's heart sank as he stared at what was wearing his brother. Sam stared at him with an expression he never used with Dean and he leveled Maellartach at Dean, the blade not quite at chest level.

"Dean. What a surprise." he said.

Dean's mouth trembled. "Get out of Sam."

Lucifer chuckled. Michael and Gabriel glared before Gabriel turned his attention back to Michael. 

"Listen, you're my brother, I'll always love you, but you're such a drone. Never thinking for yourself. Now give those boys a chance to work this out. They're stronger than you give them credit for-"

Michael actually growled. "You think you can just-" he cut himself off, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he seemed calmer. "This is my destiny. I won't let even you get in the way of that."

Gabriel gave a quick little nod, sucking on his teeth and rocked back on his heels. "Ok." Gabriel charged at Michael. "Now, Dean!"

Dean dashing forward to Lucifer, raised the seraph blade high above his head-  
_______________________________________________________________________  
Raphael and Castiel crashed into each other and thunder shook in reply. Raphael gripping tight, pinning Castiel in place, raising one wing for a lethal blow. Castiel thrust his sword into Raphael, forcing the lightening'ed grace to travel from his blade into Raphael's wound. As it struck Raphael, Castiel was unable to pull away, wings beating in protest as the power traveled into Raphael, lighting him up from the inside out, and trapping Castiel. Castiel seized as if he had stepped on a live wire, Raphael's screams surrounding him. 

The archangel clung tight as Castiel was attacked by the recoil. Blinding light and searing heart permeated Castiel as Raphael died, reeking of ozone as Raphael's wings thudded against Castiel. Deep wrenching pain ripping through him and Castiel couldn't help the screams spiraling out of his body as the two celestials went into free fall-  
________________________________________________________________________  
The seraph blade shattered into a thousand peices. Dean stared as his weapon fell at his feet. Lucifer pursed his lips into a pout.

"Awww, now that's a shame."

Dean stared up into Lucifer's face and saw no trace of Sam looking back at him.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Clary gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks. Hugging herself, she stared at the letter lying atop the three journals and the tiger's eye hourglass necklace gleaming beside them. The only other sound was the typing from Chuck's laptop and she wiped her eyes before sitting up and leaving the kitchen. Walking back to Eden, who lay in a small little crib Dean had found in a garage sale, lay Eden. Her little chest moved up in down in an easy rhythm of sleep, pink cheeks puffing with air. Clary kissed the top of her head, lips touching a small wisp of red-gold hair. Soft baby scent filling her nose and Clary held back a sob. 

She stood up and went out the back door. Ithuriel pressing to her side, sending waves of comfort. Clary smiled. 

"You don't have to do this." Ithuriel gave a little hum. 

"What kind of person would I be if I didn't?" Clary shot back. 

"Human." 

Clary huffed. "All the same."

Ithuriel gave the impression of pausing, and after a moment Clary felt herself nodding along with the angel.

"Very well."

Clary trembled, tears spilling down her cheeks afresh. "Will it hurt?"

"Not at all." 

"Alright then."

Clary took in the bright sunshine, the way birds called and insects hummed in the heat. She didn't bother to wipe her tears, but she wanted her eyes to clear. Clary gave herself another moment before closing her eyes. Ithuriel sent another wave of comfort and Clary pictured the angel pressing against her side in an embrace as the grace began to overwhelm her. Light filling her from the inside out as new found heat expanded through her limbs, back aching as Ithuriel's wings pushed out. Clary's last thoughts turned to her family as she let Ithuriel's grace guide her soul to it, until it no longer needed to do so and Clary's spirit tangled into the grace to soar alongside it. She could see it all.

Ithuriel opened her new found eyes and took flight.  
_________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	30. Through Heaven's eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diclaimer: I don't own either series, just playing with them for a bit.  
> Warnings: Character death(s), violence, language.   
> Word Count: 3,891  
> AN: This is the last chapter and the epilogue will be posted with it. Enjoy!

Angels skirmished across the Detroit skies, dodging blades just as surely as the rain pouring down around them. As Anna, Balthazar, and the other rescued angels were flung to into the insides of the clock tower on Belle Isle Park. Anna could still hear the dozens of other angels clashing around them, glass flying everywhere with their shouting. The ground shook beneath Anna's feet as she steadied herself. Balthazar spared a glance at her as the ticking of the clock above them echoing with finality. At the topmost edges of the inside of the clock tower was a long rectangular platform that stood out, leaning at an angle. Three angels stood on it, with one in the center out in front. 

"Ah, Virgil." Balthazar called out. "Waiting to make an entrance, eh?"

Scowling, Virgil raised his weapon. "Enough." He made a gesture to the other two angels behind him. "Now."

The one of the left, in a male vessel, hesitated. His companion on the right, however, charged at Anna. The angel on left joined in a second later. Together they tightened Anna into a circle. Waving their blades at her, Anna dodged.

"Please, sister don't do this."

Anna gave a nod. "Inias." she regarded him for a second before turning to the other angel. "Hester." 

Inias keep his arms wide as Hester raised her blade. Both kept trying to divert her attention. As soon as one would take a swing, the other would move in closer. Twisting on her heels, Anna parried their strikes. Charging, Virgil swung his blade at Balthazar, who in turn, leapt backwards to land beside Anna. Pulling up short, Virgil swiveled away from the trio to charge at Balthazar. Anna followed suit, kicking at Hester as she did so. Stumbling, Hester renewed the grip of her blade. 

Whirling, Hester's blade glinted from the flashing lightening moments before she plunged it into Anna's thigh. Half a second later Inias stabbed Anna in the shoulder. Hester and Inias, wincing as Anna screamed, tried to pull back. Balthazar shoulder checked Virgil, breaking the latter's nose. Balthazar knocked Virgil's blade out of his hands and punching his way out of Virgil's grip, shot forward. Anna spun around, stabbing Hester just below the shoulder blade. Balthazar yanked Inias away from Anna and stabbed him between shoulder blades.

Hester screamed. Anna hip checked Hester and they tumbled down from the large gear. Removing his blade, Blathazar swung in time to see Virgil hit his with a blow under the rib cage. Balthazar leapt back, stumbling as Inias and Vrigil advanced on him. 

Anna and Hester, still locked in combat, fell thirty feet and onto a pile of pipes that had been overturned onto a gear. With their collapse, the metal booming in protest, and Hester flinging Anna in between the cogs of another pair of gears. Hester battered Anna with her wings, trapping her in the cogs. One of Anna's wings catching in the teeth in between the two gears. Hester, jumping over the gap in between the gears, landing on Anna's chest. Hester stomped on Anna. 

A sharp crack as Anna's wing broke. Gears rattling, Balthazar spun around, flinging Inias at Virgil. They fell in a heap. Balthazar turned away from them and Inias craned his head. 

"Please. Please spare Hester." Inias said. 

"Filthy traitor." Virgil rasped.

Balthazar rolled his eyes and jumped down to Anna and Hester. Just as Hester raised her blade, Blathazar held his aloft and stabbed Hester through the throat. She died in a flash of light. Anna squinted. When the light died down they were surrounded by more than a dozen other angels. Struggling to move, Anna bared her teeth. Balthazar placed himself in front of her as Virgil and Inias disentangled themselves and stood up to the edge of the gear. Inias stared down at Hester's body with wide eyes. 

Virgil stared down at Balthazar and Anna with flinty eyes but before he could speak, another angel appeared behind him. Locks of red fluttered with motion as the angel sped up, blowing past Virgil and Inias to land the platform where they initially stood. Standing tall, an angel blade in one hand. With a single cut, blood dripping from the hand onto the metal floor. Bending down to tap the blood and straightening back up; the blood pulled itself into a line and began to form complex sigils and runes. They covered the inside of the clock tower and light again filled the space. A cacophony of wings flapping, causing the airwaves to shudder until the clock broke, and its giant hands dropped. 

The light faded, leaving only three angels left. Balthazar hurried to disentangle Anna from the machinery. The redheaded angel stood before them. Balthazar squinted and Anna pressed a hand to her shoulder. 

"Hang on, you're-"

"Ithuriel." with a ruffled of wings, he continued to speak. "All the buildings in the area will collapse soon, we have to get our companions out." Ithuriel said. 

"All right." Anna shuddered. 

Balthazar smirked.   
_______________________________________________________________________  
The fire alarm continued its shrill scream as red light flashed. It almost drowned out the long winding laughter. Meg and Sebastian flanked a fleeing Bobby as Jocelyn hefted the rifle higher and fired. The shot rang through the air but missed Meg, and grazed Sebastian shoulder before burying itself into the wall. Sprinting, Meg kicked off on the corner of the wall, body catapulting towards Jocelyn. Out of nowhere, Simon jumped in front of Jocelyn with outstretched hands. 

Meg couldn't pull back in time, her momentum spinning her into the wall opposite with a thud. Sebastian, laughing, advanced on Bobby. Bobby jerked back to avoid an open handed blow to the sternum. 

"Gun." Bobby shouted.

Jocelyn tossed the shotgun to Bobby. It pinwheeled into the air, doing three rotations as Sebastian and Bobby went to catch it. Sebastian gripped its muzzle as Bobby grabbed the butt. They struggled with it, a tug of war as each man got closer in their grappling for the weapon. Meg sprinting to them just as Bobby's finger pulled the trigger. Meg cross body tackled Bobby. However, his aim went true, bullet burying into Sebastian's shoulder even as the gun and Bobby went flying. 

The force of the shot sent Sebastian slamming past a door and into a stairwell, Bobby not far behind. Meg chasing them as Jocelyn and Simon tried to regain their respective balances. Simon found his equilibrium first, bolting into the stairwell. Meg turned her head in time to see Simon charge at her. With an upraised hand, she sent back with a telekinetic blow. Simon stumbled back but Meg had only a second before her own blow was directed back to her. Limbs flailing, she finally hit the wall.

Sebastian got to his feet and Jocelyn emerged, punching him in the face. A crack as his nose broke but her barely moved. Jocelyn's eyes widened.

"Gun." she cried.

Bobby tossed it to her. Jocelyn's hands steady as she pulled the trigger, but only a faint click was heard. Sebastian smirked. Jocelyn spun the rifle around, gripping it by the barrel and swung the gun like it was a baseball bat. It struck Sebastian in the side of the face, he stumbled back, grunting. Meg ripped the railing free, stabbing it forward. Jocelyn parried the strike. Metal sparks rained down on the stairs. Locked together, Meg, tugging the pipe, swung low. 

It pierced Bobby's thigh, just above his knee. Denim ripping as the scent of blood overwhelmed the stairwell. Screaming, Bobby fumbled with his jacket pocket, pulling out a colt pistol and shooting Meg in the sternum. Roaring, Sebastian charged and Simon met him. Sebastian swerved and avoided Simon but not Jocelyn, who flung the rifle. Sebastian tilted his head and the shotgun clattered down the stairs. 

Sebastian laughed, taking a step back, and his left foot went to far back, catching on the edge of the staircase. His right foot scraped at his left ankle and he pinwheeled moments before falling over the edge. With no railing to balance him, Sebastian tumbled down the gap in between the flights of stairs. Laughing the whole way down. Meg stared, open mouthed as her partner fell. Turning her head in time to see Jocelyn and Simon edge closer to her, and Bobby sit up straighter as he aimed his revolver at her. Meg sneered before leaping off the edge after Sebastian. 

Jocelyn raced to the edge, peering over. Bobby's breathing becoming labored. Simon bent down to the older man's side, putting a hand on his shoulder. Simon's eyes dilated, as the scent of blood fill the air. Simon and Bobby exchanged a look. Simon tugged on Bobby's arm and the man nodded. 

"Jocelyn, we gotta go." Bobby rasped.

"Help me with him." Simon said. 

Jocelyn lingered for a moment longer, until they called her name twice and then she went to Bobby's right side. Together she and Simon gathered Bobby up, each under Bobby's arms and hoisting him up. His weight sagged as his knees buckled and the three staggered their way out of the stairwell.   
________________________________________________________________________  
Laughing, Alec loaded his bow with another arrow, knocking it, and firing it up at the elapid roaring up in front of him. Magnus raised his hands and bolts of blue lightening shot forth, hitting the ancient's hide to no avail. Magnus dodged one of the insecticidal legs.   
"This isn't working." Magnus called.

Alec lined up another shot with his bow. "What do you suggest?" Aiming at the eyes, he fired. He missed. 

Magnus's eyes widened as the elapid reared up, legs kicking and waving in the air. Wind gusted in its wake, bringing its fouls stench closer to the two men. Magnus wrinkled his nose as Alec pulled his head back. The elapid bore down on them, legs descending upon them. Legs whistling, claws cracking, and jaws open wide, it plunged. Magnus raised his hands up, magic bubbling up at his finger tips until it took on a saran warp-like consistency, and spread out of his hands until it enveloped the both of them. The elapid crashed into the shield. 

Grunting, Magnus kept the elapid at bay, arms shaking as the barrier widened out. For a moment, the elapid floundered in face of the impediment. Alec's eyes widened. Scooting closer to Magnus, he spoke into the warlock's ear.

"I have an idea. Can you distract him while I get to a higher vantage point."

Magnus turned and stared at him. "What are you going to do?"

"The best I can." Alec winked.

Magnus gaped but before he could reply, the elapid lost its balance, tripping over its many legs and collapsing on its side. The pavement shuddered and cracked as the creatures weight made a deep trembling in the ground. Concrete spider webbed out from the crater the elapid's body made. 

Alec patted Magnus's shoulder as he passed him by. Magnus twisted his head to see Alec take a running leap, kicking at the corner of the building to gain momentum, and then jumping to catch a foot hold in the building across from them. Alec scrambled into an open window just as the elapid got to its feet. The ancient roared as Magnus shot off another round of magic into the creature's side. 

Alec made it all the way up to the roof. His shoulder pulsing as he checked his quiver. There were only three arrows left. Peering down the edge of the roof, he watched Magnus try to heard the ancient to Alec's location. A slim line of electrified magic pushed the elapid close enough for Alec's liking. Judging the difference for only a moment, Alec tightened his weapons to his body, before leaping off the building.

Pinwheeling, Alec twisted until his knees were tucked into his chest, with his hands splayed wide as he got closer to his target. He landed on the elapid's back with a heavy thump. Tumbling along its ridged spine, Alec stretched out his limbs, and stopped his descent down the creatures back as he gripped spiny ridges. Alec pulled himself back up by said ridge spines, not even stopping when he cut his palm. Hissing at the pain, he managed to get all the way up to the base of the creature's skull.

Magnus's magic was still striking the creature's chest and legs. Getting close enough to fall of the beast's head, Alec knocked an arrow from his bow. Drawing it back and with careful aim, he fired into the left eye. It went right in the center of the pupil. A second arrow flew, hitting the right pupil. Gushing blood and brackish fluid, the elapid shook and screamed. Alec lost balance, sliding down the ancient's muzzle. 

The elapid shook its face and Alec lost his tenacious grip on its muzzle. Tossing back its head, jaws open wide, and now Alec was helpless to fall. Magnus's shout was fuzzy to Alec's ears. His bowstring caught in between two rotting incisors. Alec gripped the bow with one hand by its grip. Dangling in its open mouth, feet skimming the slimy tongue. A rumbling came up from the stomach, travelling up the throat, and blasting air out of the mouth. Alec's lips curled up and he pulled out the short sword out of his belt. 

The elapid's mouth descended. Alec screamed as teeth impaled him and darkness closed in around him. His bow cracked in half. Pushing upwards, the teeth scraping him, and its saliva burned. Alec gagged as as it sloshed up his cheeks. A fang cut Alec above his eyebrow, and he screeched as said cut get drenched in saliva. Eyes shut tight, harsh angry lights spotted in his vision. Alec thrust his blade up, managing to hit the gums, past and in between the teeth. More hideous liquid as Alec tried to pull his sword out, blade swinging until he finally hit the roof at the elapid. 

Its scream shook his body, opening its mouth to give voice to them. Blood washed over Alec as the elapid spat him back out and collapsed at his feet. Staggering, Alec opened one eye, realizing the other was swollen shut. He looked down to see this cuts were red and angry. His veins swollen and black. Alec managed to reach Magnus before collapsing at the warlock's feet.  
________________________________________________________________________  
The railroad tracks were deserted save for two people. Sebastian leaned heavily on Meg as the two of them faced the entrance to a train tunnel. Sebastian eyed Meg. 

"You sure about this?" he asked. "We've still got a chance-"

Meg smirked. "In hell." she finished. "We'll live to fight another day."

They locked gazes, faces inching closer until they were kissing. Fierce kisses unheeding of the collapsing buildings in the distance. Even amid that screams of pain and terror they didn't pull back and only pulled back to speak. 

"I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship." Meg quoted. 

Sebastian just laughed. The two walked side by side down the train tracks and into the tunnel.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Dean stared at Lucifer. Michael and Gabriel still standing far apart as each one gaped at Lucifer. Dean held up his hands. 

"Sam-"

"Your time here is done." Michael stated. "You cannot do this-"

Gabriel charged Michael, his tackle the sound of an thunderclap. Dean flinched back and when his eyes opened, they were gone. Dean and Sam were alone. Swallowing, Dean took a shudder-y breath. 

"I'm sorry I'm late, Sammy."

A slow smile, a soft chuckle in reply. "Oh, Dean."

In one swift motion, Lucifer swung his fists and landed a swift punch to the gut. Then a flurry of blows rained down on an unresistant Dean.   
________________________________________________________________________

Crack. Sam woke up. Almost like pulling his head up from underwater. Gasping for   
control, he strained to keep it so. Sam could see through Lucifer's eyes-his stolen eyes-to see his stolen fists pummeling his brother. Another crack proving that Dean's nose had been broken. Sam felt his soul flinch. Dean was knocked down with a kicked to the chest. Sam gagged. As Dean fell, Lucifer laughed. Dean didn't move, no matter how much Sam screamed at him to. Twisting, Sam watched as Lucifer picked up Maellartach and the surge of power, of rightness ran dizzy riots inside Sam. His unending scream was heard only by himself and Lucifer as the devil raised the sword over Dean-

________________________________________________________________________  
Dean stared up. Mallartach gleamed with a light of its own origin as it hovered above his chest. 

"Dean."

Sam stood over him, shaking so hard he was practically vibrating. Sword swinging in the effort of trying to be held. Sam breathing hard as he gave his brother a shaky smile. 

"It's gonna be fine." he said.

Sam didn't pause as he turned the sword and stabbed himself in the stomach. Driving Maellartach deep inside himself as Dean screamed.

"No!"

Lucifer's scream drown out Dean's with a high pitched whine. Light enveloped the room in tandem with its shaking. The light was gone as quick as it came but the shaking didn't stop, and Sam's body fell to the floor. Dean hurried to his brother. His hands trembled over Sam.

"No no no no no no-"

The floor began to crack and Dean pulled Sam closer to him. Dean yelled in pain as the noise of a building wrenched from its foundations combined with angels' shouts proved to much; as the brightness of the angels made him shut his eyes. Together they slid down the tilting marble. Dean shielded Sam with his body as they were flung out the window.

________________________________________________________________________  
Sam knew someone was standing beside him and it didn't take him long to to recognize the blonde hair and the white dress. 

"Mom?" he frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Mary smiled, slow and soft. Sam's shoulders slumped, leaning towards Mary, who stroked Sam's cheek. 

"Do you even have to ask? A mother's love is infinite." her smile became sad. "However...you are needed elsewhere."

Sam's frown grew deeper. "What does that mean?"

Mary pressed a cheek to Sam's and then pressed a kiss to his forehead. Sam locked eyes on her and whatever Mary was about to say was drowned out by the sound of weeping. Sam turned to the sound and his mother's touch vanished. The sound grew louder, coinciding with the heaviness in his chest, and a slight warmth. Sam cracked his eyes open. Dean hunching over him, shoulders heaving as sobs racked his body. Hands clutching Sam's shoulders. 

"Dean." he croaked. 

Dean gasped, head jolting up to stare at Sam with glassy green eyes. A single line of tears escaped his eye unnoticed as he continued to gape at Sam until he startled as if he had forgotten something. He stared farther away and slightly up. Sam twisted his head to see Gabriel standing at Sam's head. 

"Y-you brought him back." Dean whispered.

"Well, duh." Gabriel responded. His smiled was heard despite the eye roll. 

Dean huffed out a laugh. "W-well, Thanks. I mean it. Thank you." 

Gabriel gave a little shrug, but Dean turned his attention back to Sam and scooping him up in his arms, crushed his brother to him in a tight embrace. Dean's mouth close to Sam's ear as Dean growled out,

"Never do that again."

"Don't plan on it." Sam said.

Sam squeezed back, wrapping his arms around Dean. A weight lifted from Sam, floating off his body, getting higher and higher the longer Dean held him. 

________________________________________________________________________  
The buildings were collapsing all around them. Isabelle limping to safety, a piece of her torn shirt pressed gingerly over the side of her face. Weaving through the still wandering crowds of croatoans, Isabelle managed to find Jocelyn and Simon supporting Bobby's weight. The foursome found Bobby's van-still in working condition-and drove it through the streets, combing the clogged roads for the others. Dean and Sam walking side by side as Gabriel led them past an alleyway, where they found Castiel leaning back against a dumpster, with the remains of Raphael a hundred paces away. Dean dashed to Castiel's side, shaking him by the shoulders, and pale all over again. After a few moments Castiel's eyes fluttered open and when he saw Dean, he gave an almost loopy smile. Dean frowned.

"What the hell are you grinning about?"

"Stars." 

Dean slumped, giving a little laugh before hauling Castiel to his feet. Together they found Isabelle's group. An exchange of information was brief. They waited for the last two members of their band and just when everyone was beginning to give up, Magnus arrived, carrying Alec in his arms. The sun set behind him.  
________________________________________________________________________  
Chuck continued to type, eyes glassy, as if he could see the progression of the battlefield, and even far beyond that. His fingers flying over the keys, unable to stop the progression, lips moving in spastic reaches in a mumbling of language they couldn't keep up with. He was on a roll. As he surveyed the fates of his companions, he had to give their accounts. 

'-Alec is fatally poisoned by the elapid ancient and has about only five years left to live. He and Magnus will spend those remainder of years together and with Isabelle. When Alec dies, Magnus will wander the Earth and the only person who will ever see him again is Simon.

Simon, who ends up raising Clary and Jace's child, Eden. He becomes head of the Manhattan clan and a very stern leader, eventually keeping most downworlders in line in New York City. Eden won't meet Jocelyn for years yet and only when she proves herself to be a formidable young woman. As Jocelyn will now spend the rest of her days tracking down Meg and Sebastian, who escaped to Detroit to wreck havoc on all they come across. 

Isabelle stays around the Singer yard, learning all she can from Bobby before striking out on her own. She comes by from time to time. 

You might be wondering what happened to the angels. Well, after Lucifer and Raphael's deaths, Michael and Gabriel have put aside their differences. It seems Gabriel has come into a new found duty, although he tries his hardest to visit Earth as often as he can. They'll co-run Heaven and things will more or less work out. The angels will concentrate on destroying the ancients. Ithuriel proves to be very adept at that, serving as Gabriel's lieutenant.

Anna and Balthazar, however, have decided to remain on Earth to guard the rest of Heaven's weaponry. They even run their own business together. Strange bedfellows and all that. 

Castiel. Ah, Castiel. With that last attack on Raphael, he used up the remainder of his grace. He is now human and spending those mortal years with the Winchesters. Although, I don't think he minds.

As for the boys...they'll recover and keep on keepin' on. So picture this. The two of them together, at home on the road. A stretch of two-lane highway in a dusty car. Driving underneath a bright blue sky...forever.'

______________________________________________________________________  
TBC...


	31. Epilogue: A far more comforting prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own either series, or anthing you would recognize.  
>  Word Count:  
>  AN: Thanks to all those who review'd, favourite'd, kudo's, bookmarked, and followed. You guys made this possible with wanting to read this and it was a joy to entertain ya'll. Thanks to MissStud too. We met not have collaborated for very long, but she's the one who suggested it.   
>  Now, I've got some other fics cooking that I hope ya'll will want to read, since I'm gonna be making them. Ok, so enough self promotion. Here's the final piece of the story. As always, enjoy!

Three years later, fourth of July.

Bobby stood on his front porch, waiting as a new, motley assortment of cars would eventually come roaring into his driveway. The first to show up was Simon. A plain blue station wagon that had a slight clunking sound from somewhere in its engine. Bobby'd make sure either he or Dean would patch it up before Simon left. Bobby watched Simon take his time to park and he was getting out by the time Bobby got there. Simon opened the passenger side door. Out clambered a little girl with wild and curly red gold hair. Simon steadied her for a hot second before she was standing on her own. Eden wore a blue and white dress with red stars on the hem. A pendent of tiger's eye in the shape of an hourglass gleamed around her neck. Bobby bent down to her level. She only came up to his knee. She didn't shy away when he did so.

"Hey there. It's been awhile. You're growin' like a weed."

Eden's gold eyes were big. She poked the rim of Bobby's trucker cap. "I think I remember you."

"Yeah?" Bobby's gruff laugh made her giggle.

Eden nodded. "Yeah."

Bobby pulled off his cap and set it on Eden's head. He stood up and led them inside. Simon and Bobby went started to set up in the kitchen as Eden found one of Bobby's books and was frowning at the Latin inside. 

"So no word of Jocelyn yet?" Bobby asked, handing Simon a plate. 

Simon shook his head. "Not yet but I'm not surprised."

"Hm."

Bobby didn't comment further as they continued and a car horn honked, signaling the arrival of someone else. They met Magnus and the Lightwoods'. Magnus took out the wheelchair that used to be Bobby's and together he and Isabelle helped Alec into it. Isabelle shook Bobby's hand in greeting and Alec gave him a simple nod and a wan smile. He looked gaunt and tired, his skin pale and deep rings about the eyes. Magnus and Isabelle didn't stray far from him, even as they began to help set up. The Lightwoods' didn't seem at all impeded by their old wounds. Isabelle did not cover her blinded eye.

Gabriel showed up by himself, charming Eden by giving her sweets despite Simon's tut of dissaproval. Simon told her to wait after dinner and she reluctantly put the candy on the table. 

At last Sam, Dean, and Castiel arrive just before the sun set. The impala rumbled past the driveway just as Bobby began to fire up the grill. The older man's scowl had just enough of a playful edge that Dean didn't falter as he held up a case of beer. 

"The first store opened up today." Dean crowed. "Couldn't resist."

Bobby smiled. "Well can't blame you for that."

"Let's get this party started." Dean said.

Cas gave a little nod. "Indeed."

At this Dean gave a surprised bark of laughter. His green eyes danced in the half light of the setting sun. Cas perked up at the response. Sam and Bobby exchanged knowing looks. Sam patted Bobby's shoulder and moved on to greet Gabriel. Sam's voice was slow and soft. 

"Hey. How you holding up?"

Gabriel put a tablecloth on the wooden table that had been brought out by Magnus and Bobby. The archangel took his time in answering. 

"...Alright, I guess. I mean some days are easier than others." he set down plates. "I do miss him. Course, I think Mike's taking this harder than I am." 

Sam's voice got lower. A street lamp back lit him, catching strands of his hair. Gabriel sucked in a breath. Sam seemed to notice.

"You can't take that I'll on yourself and I'm gonna keep saying that until it works." he said.

Sam leaned in closer. Gabriel's grin turned mischievous as he moved closer to meet the taller man. 

"Better order a pizza while you wait." 

Their lips were inches apart when Isabelle cleared her throat, finishing putting the spread together. Bobby called for everyone to come to the table and serve themselves. Sam and Dean sat next to each other. Cas on Dean's free side and Gabriel on Sam's. Alec sat in between Isabelle and Magnus, facing Sam and Dean. Simon sat next to Isabelle, with Eden fidgeting next to him. Bobby sat at the head of the table. He stood up, holding a cup of beer in his hand. 

"Before we dig in, I got an announcement." 

They all turned to look at him, and grabbed their own glasses. Bobby cleared his throat. 

"I know it's been a rough couple of years. We've been dealt some heavy blows. Lost some good friends that can't ever be replaced. Ya'll Nephilim lost Idris and got dragged into the apocalypse. Sam really took one for the team-"

Sam ducked his head as murmurs went around and Bobby continued. 

"-and after we shot down the devil, we still had to deal with croats and it seemed never ending. For three years we had to deal with them and now we've beat them." He tilted his glass to the guests at the table. "Together, we killed what needed killing, and now the last of the croatoans have been destroyed. People can now rebuild and humanity has a fightin' chance again." Bobby inclined his drink to Gabriel. "Now, ya'll still have work to do, but here's one less fight. Another day done."

A little cheer rose up. Alec's eyes went glassy for a moment. Downing their glasses, everyone began to dig in and chat. It wasn't until it was dark that they were finished. The far off noises of fireworks echoed in the distance, sound carried by the breeze. Gabriel cleaned the dishes by snapping his fingers, although Cas insisted on doing it by hand. 

Simon showed Eden how to hold the sparklers as Sam went back to the impala to get the fireworks of their own. Simon and Eden played with sparklers as Magnus helped clear a spot. Everyone gathered together in a loose cluster of chairs as Gabriel set the fireworks off. A scream of the bottle rocket seconds before bursting into bright stars of colored light. Alec sucked in a breath. 

To no one in particular, he said. "I'm glad I'm getting to see this."

Isabelle's breath hitched and Magnus and Sam squeezed his shoulders. Bobby handed Magnus a beer. Simon hoisted Eden onto his shoulders as she pointed up at the sky. Dean grabbed two beers and nudged Sam, who nodded in greeting before turning back to Magnus. Dean found Cas leaning against the impala. Dean made to his side, offering the second beer. Cas took it with a small smile. Dean exhaled in a low gust.

"So." he said. 

"So." Cas repeated.

They didn't say much as they drank their beers. Gabriel set off another bottle rocket. It went off in a sharp cry. Cas peered up. Not looking at Dean, he began to speak.

"I really like fireworks." 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Ya? Found something you finally like?" 

Cas laughed at their inside joke at least a year old. "This is definitely going on the list." He pausing, sobering after a moment. "To me, fireworks symbolize humans. They shine brightly, make a lot of noise, and then they are gone. Simply beautiful."

Dean turned his head in time to see Cas do the same, to stare at him. Dean swallowed as light lit up Cas's eyes, made them glitter. His heart sped up, almost painful. He could almost feel himself nodding, but he didn't trust himself to speak for a few minutes.

"So...you're cool with this?" 

Dean gestured with his hand holding his beer. He wasn't sure how much of what he knew he was talking about. His hands were shaking as the air became tangible, as if a heat have shimmered beside them. Cas kept staring at him, despite the fact that he for once, couldn't seem to sit still. A slight pinkness tinged his cheeks. Cas licked his lips. 

"Yes." he sounded oddly breathless. 

Dean looked so thrown, that when the next firework went off, he jumped. His eyes darted. He shifted from foot to foot and leaned to Cas for just a moment. 

"A-are you sure?"

Cas blew out a breath, sharp and quick. "Oh, for crying out loud, Dean-"

Darting forward, he closed the gap and kissed Dean. Dean, who dropped his beer. The can clattered, aluminum catching the light like its own sparkling jewels. Beer pooling at Dean's boots. Vague undercurrent of cicada chirping in the distance as fireworks went off in rapid succession. Cas's lips were slightly chapped but Dean didn't pull back. He pressed back, harder. 

Dean's hands gripped Cas's shoulders in a vice-like grip as Dean's mouth opened wider. Cas made a noise. Too deep to be called a mewl, but too needy to be anything but. Pulling Cas closer, Dean ran his hands all over Cas, who wriggled his hips. Cas welcomed the instinct that drove him to part his legs as Dean tightened their embrace. Cas didn't want to stop kissing Dean. Didn't want air. He thought he understood fireworks, but this was another thing entirely. Like he had swallowed fire, exploding inside him, as his body couldn't contain it and exploded outwards. Cas could still feel the heat on his face. He liked fireworks but this was better. 

 

THE END.


End file.
